Know Thyself
by The Itchy Bird
Summary: After the pedestal sucks the life out of him, Desmond Miles awakens in a realm both far and close to the one he was in before. Questioning the events of his life, he meets five people who talk some clarity into him. Before he finds true understanding of his worth. (Post AC 3, slightly in line with AC 4)
1. The Choice

**_"ENOUGH!"_**

He'd heard all he needed to hear. And he knew what to do...

**_"You must not do this."_**

If he didn't act now, all their hard work would've been fruitless...

**_"Whatever Juno's planning - however horrible it might be today - we'll find a way to stop it. But the alternative, what you want - there's no hope in it!"_**

**_"If you free her - you'll be destroyed."_**

Many would suffer... He wouldn't let that be...

**_"It will happen in an instant. There will be no pain."_**

**_"You mustn't!_**

Otherwise, the alternative would be too cruel...

**_"It's done, Minerva. The decision's made."_**

He had faith in humanity. They can fight back. Will fight back...

**_"Then the consequences of this mistake are yours to live - and die - with."_**

She faded out of view. Only the four - scratch that, five - of them remained...

**_"You need to go. All of you. Get as far away from here as you can."_**

**_"Come with us. We'll find a another way."_**

He dismissed it. Without hesitation...

**_"There isn't time."_**

**_"Son..."_**

That tone both comforted and hurt him. But it was too late...

**_"You know it's true. It's already started. I need to do this now. So go! GO!"_**

Waited until they all fled the area, then he faced the pedestal.

Palms open, arms stretched out. Then, the sphere in his grasp.

A moment of seizure and drainage. It blinded his senses until...

Blankness enveloped his being.

He was gone.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's<span>**** note**: Hey, all! How comes the reading? If you've clicked this, then I hope the rest of this fanfic will please you.

Anywho, while I'm writing "Dia-Up Assassin", this little piece came into mind. Again, originally for amusement, this one also got a little more of my creativity than I first lent the idea with. So, to quickly explain:The prologue if just my made-up point-of-view narration of the last scene from Assassin's Creed III, where Desmond Miles chose to save the world while reluctantly setting Juno free. The rest of the story is besically...in a sense, the afterlife (?)

If you've read Mitch Albom's "The Five People You Meet In Heaven", then I hope this will be clear enough.

So, hopefully, I can give little bits of updates on this while also doing my other work (and art.) I WILL make a cover for this, though. Just wait.

Reviews and suggestions are welcome! O u O)/


	2. Reading Stories

**The Library**

When he came to, the first thing that came to his mind was a realization of misplacement. He didn't feel any after shock of pain, though earlier he had felt like the life was being sucked out of him. And really, that was exactly what had happened. To think he had believed Juno when she said there wasn't going to be any pain, really. But why was he lacking any conflicted feeling? No anger, regret, sadness, anxiety, or grief. Or rather... what _did_ he feel?

Oddly, he felt calm. Elevated. And most surreal of all, blissful.

With astonishingly little confusion, Desmond got up. And for the first time in a long while didn't feel any back pain like he had whenever he was laid down on the Animus for certain amounts of time. Quickly, too. His entire body felt inhumanly nible, even more than the Animus' programmed training had allowed him to feel. His manner of thinking less stressed and more content. But he was curious as to what was going on, so the young man took notice of his surroundings.

From the bookshelves that instantly greeted his bearings, he summed up that he was in a library. A very ... _unique_ library.

Unlike most libraries (well, the few he had visited both in real life and during his Animus sessions), this one was not only massive. No matter what direction he looked, he couldn't find any back wall nor did it seem to have a ceiling, but it didn't look or feel like he was outside. The place was well-lit, but not lit by sunlight. But it did feel welcoming, inviting him to have a look around and borrow a book or two.

His eyes then went to the bookshelves. Hundreds upon hundreds of bookshelves all around the place. And as he walked about the aisles, it looked like they were lined up to create interesections, like the streets of a city. Lined up, but not stacked close to each other, giving enough space to allow passage through every collection of shelves, like an extra room. Perhaps they represented the different uses of those books, like the Dewey Decimal System. And in those bookshelves were books filling up every space, no one book looking like the other. One book was really a scroll, another looked like it held old parchment than paper and, to his surpise, there were even electronic tablets in the bunch!

"What the _heck_ is this place?", the first thing that came out of his mouth since waking up: a question. It slurred, but a question still. And as if on cue, he stopped as something came into view from the corner of his eye.

A figure appeared on the left aisle of the interesection, facing a bookshelf a few feet meters from where Desmond was. Surprise painted his face at seeing another person in the seemingly sparse library. He couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman, for the person was wearing a kind of scholar's robe, the white glistening fabric reaching just above the ankles and the hood doming over the head. And the height and built was just about young adult in size. The person was enjoying one of the books - it looked like a paperback, the size of a Stephen King novel -, but then immediately putting back the book to reach for an old leather-bound one.

The young man couldn't make up his mind on whether to go up to the figure and ask questions or to stay clear of him or her, not exactly thinking of the person as a threat, but because he didn't want to disturb them from their book-skimming. He was getting more compelled to do the former, though. Slowly, he walked towards the person. Just as he was only a meter away...

"Ah. You finally found me, then."

Desmond froze. The voice was male, the accent faguely familiar. And judging from the tone, the man was expecting him. But it was only when the other turned around that he he was close to an answer.

The man gingerly pulled back the hood, revealing a cropped haircut and a well-defined jawline. His face underneath the hood was young but tired, semetic but not exotic-looking, with eyes that penetrated Desmond's soul with fond knowledge and appreciation.

Why did they have that penetration?

It took a moment for him to speak up. "Wait. How did you know I was ... Do I know you?", he replaced the first question he wanted to ask with another.

The expression the other man held was between amusement and sighing. Shaking his head, walking towards Desmond. His height was only slightly below his, but up close he could have a better look at the man's face. The other then said with some humour, "Really? After all your time playing time traveller in the Animus, you don't immediately recognize me?"

"W-wait." Desmond stammered out after getting over the slight shock. "How did you know about the Animus?" He demanded, but not with the usual anger he had before. The want to know was still there, as his volume spoke urgently. "Just...who are you?"

The quiet that came afterwards was unnerving. He felt like he had just disturbed the aura of the place with his brash inquiry. The other man, on the other hand, only stood still, like he was waiting for something. Then, with a snap of his fingers and an 'I got it!', he grabbed Desmond's left hand and placed the fingers near the top lip.

"W-W-What the-!"

Taken aback, Desmond tried to pull his hand back, but the stranger had a firm grasp on it, keeping it align his mouth, then spoke. "Just trace your finger from here and down." And firmer, he looked at the confused man's eyes and said, "Trust me."

The look he gave Desmond was authorizing, but much like that of a father. Trust...

Relunctantly, he moved an index finger over the lips until it settled at the bottom near the chin. The minute he removed the finger, though, a shining line started glowing from where his finger had roamed. When the light had diminished, the other man let go of his hand, took a step back and smiled. "Now, try to remember."

That one little line started it all. Because it wasn't a line. It was a scar. A blade scar, one he himself had and it all came back to him.

His first Animus sessions. The feel of the Levatine sun. The clashing of swords and hidden blades. The Assassin beaurue. The library that was no longer filled with books. And the old man, sitting on the chair with the Apple of Eden in his hand, waiting for death, his final work done.

Recognition finally showing itself, the other man's smile gleamed even more as Desmond uttered the name with such reassurance.

"Altair.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>Interlude<span>**_

_ The van was moving at a fast enough speed that they weren't skidging about the forest uncontrollably while driving away from the Temple. The solar flare was going to happen any minute now and they had to cover as much distance as the van would suffice them with._

_ Shaun's iron grip on the steering wheel was whitneing his knuckles. Bloody hell, why? Why did this have to happen like it did?_

Yes_, they had succeeded in solving the mystery of Those Who Came Before, that they were able to complete everything in time for the Temple to manipulate the impact of the flare to prevent an apocalypse. But at a price that they almost couldn't comprehend. And now, they were only three, running away because Desmond insisted upon it while he offered himself like a patient lamb for the slaughterhouse to Juno's twisted intentions._

_ Bollocks, the whole mess of it._

_ "The energy signal is getting more unstable!" He heard Rebecca exclaim frantically. From the corner of his eye, he could see that she was reading the current seismic frequency of the Earth. "I'm not sure just how far we need to be to avoid the impact-"_

_ A sudden curve on the road forced him to make a hard left, causing Rebecca and William to bump hard onto the van's side. As they recovered, he gave a hurried apology as he steadied the vehicle into a straight path once again._

_ William then grabbed both of the seats to sit up. "We can calculate the frequencies later. Right now, we have to keep our distance. There's no telling on the amount of aftershocks we'll be experiencing when it happens."_

_ Nodding, the Englishman went back to my driving, but the current scenery that welcomed us made me say, "Which I believe is sooner than we think." He indicated to the front view, then went to park the car near a clearing and hit the breaks. His attention went back to the others, who were just as mesmerized as he was by what was infront of them._

_ Green lights, emitting from beneath the ground and within the atmosphere. What was once dark nighttime was now plundged into a veridian radiance, the entire scene a close-up of the Northern lights right where they were parked. It was the most captivating display of energy they had witnessed since Desmond (as Ezio Auditore) had found the Grand Temple in the Vatican._

_ "It works...", was all he could say. No witty comment of any sort about how Juno was actually true to her word: that the purpose of the Temple are functioning and Desmond's sacrifice wasn't wasted. For a minute, they all felt like a storm was almost through its passing._

_ But any form of celebration or condolence were shoved out the door as a sudden rumbling came. The van started rattling with the earth's shaking, the movements sensed even through the upholstry of the driver's seat. It must've been the result of the Temple working against the diabolic fury of the solar flare. It was causing the earth's seismic pattern to go haywire and more the anything, the aftershock is te fiercest at where they are, being closer to the Temple._

_ As he looked up, William's expression was almost wild, but he had enough instict to hold him and Rebecca by the shoulders and force them to bend over. "Everyone, brace yourselves!"_

_ It might have only been a moment or perhaps several minutes. They couldn't tell as the van shook but miraculously didn't topple over. As they sat there, trying to keep their bearings as the world's spasm continued, very little thought processed through Shaun's mind._

_ But this was better than being roasted. That much he gave thought for._

* * *

><p><strong>Meeting The First<strong>

He couldn't believe it. Didn't know if he wanted to or should. Maybe this was all in his head, like when the others had plugged him into the Animus. But something was tugging deep inside to tell him that this was all happening, whether or not it was all inside his head. He felt so confirmed by that somehow.

The man whom he identified as Altair ibn La'Ahad took his realization in with an air of satisfaction. "Come." He let go of Desmond's hand and made to turn and walk along the aisle, indicating for him to follow. "Walk with me."

He obeyed and they made their way alongside the bookshelves. They kept going about, turning at every intersection they met and occasionally, Altair took a book or two from the shelves and carried them while leading Desmond.

After a few more paces, the latter's curiousity urged him to ask, "So... this library. It's huge." Huge didn't even begin to describe it. It was endless. "Is this like your library back in Maysaf?" It had only occured to it now, but he had remembered the stack of empty bookshelves, which were a disturbing difference actually to the abundancy of reading material the library they currently were in was.

Altair nodded at the statement. "Yes. This is a special place, and not just for me. And just like that library, this one is filled with invaluable knowledge." He was quickly skimming through one recently worn book before closing it and offering it to the American. "Go on. Have a look for yourself."

With surprisingly minimal hesitation, Desmond took the book. He and Altair had to stop their walk so he could get a good read from the item. First glancing at the expectant once-Master Assassin. "Alright.", he said flatly before opening the book.

A wave of exhilaration washed over him. As if on a synchonized fast forward mode, he was witnessing in his head all sorts of scenarios from point of view of a person he has never seen before, but oddly felt accostumed to. First was the birthing of the man, then the awkward coming of years, the marriage that would soon be withered by his recruitment. And lastly, the face of his enemy as they battled to the death, not realizing the bomb that would go off soon to innitiate their deaths.

It wasn't shown in that order but he was overwhelmed by all this information being transported into his mind, as clear as if he was there. But it was too much. Too detailed and close to home even though it he didn't want it to be. With a great amount of effort, he quickly closed the book.

He expected to be mentally exhausted or scarred by that experience, but only felt reflective. After clearing his mind for a moment, he turned questioningly at Altair. "What...what did I just saw...in this book?" The shock was still present, if his voice was any indicator to it. immediately he gave the book back to Altair, who only hummed in thought at his mental russ.

The other man took back the book and put it on the same shelf he had pulled it out from before turning back to Desmond and spoke, "The man who's life you had witnessed is a young soldier recruited to fight in the Vietnamese War. These books,", he raised what looked like an electronic tablet as a bizzare example, "all tell the stories of those who had ever lived for any amount of time in the material world. And like any reader interested in stories, I come back here many times to try to understand the enigmatic occurance called living." He paused to start walking again, urging Desmond to follow. "And that is why you were first dropped off here."

He followed again once more, intrigued by what the other man was saying, however fague it seemed. Thinking about his next question, he then carefilly said, "'First dropped off'? You mean this isn't my last destination?"

"No, it will not be your last." Altair dictated knowingly. "There is no limitation when it comes to figuring out one's self. Which is what I'm going to be helping you with."

That threw Desmond off. "Help me figure out _what_?"

A robed arm shot up to tenderly hold onto his shoulder, squeezing comfortly as Altair spoke again. "Figure out why your life was what it was."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Phew! Finally got to doing a chapter for this! Since I've finished one chapter for Dial-Up Assassin ahead of time, I decided to quickly (relative to how long my chapters usually are) finish chapter 1 for this.

Also, I've made this to indicated the events after AC 3 and during the modern events in AC 4 (but nothing too invovled with AC 4, since I neither want to give away too much for everyone nor spoil myself.), so the In. As for where Desmond is, it's kind of an astral reality to that of the material (living) reality, which intersect each other, but the atral reality has no chronological bounds and is sujected to the preference of the soul and not the carnage intentions of the physical body (I really hope I can sum that up in later chapters, but oh well.)

**Next update:** Febuary 16-22 (I want to give myself lots of time while complete chapter 4 of Dial-Up Assassin and putting together the events of the next chapters to this one. Also, because reading during the weekends is nice, so yes. Scheduled there. XDD)

Review and suggestions are welcome! Bye!

~Itchy


	3. Rebuilding Confidence

**Acceptance and Renewal**

"What my life was…what?"

The statement given by the Levatine assassin confused him intensely. He had to let it sink in before noticing that Altair had gone over to another bookshelf nearby, getting more books or putting them back when he deemed them unnecessary. Face still twisted in figuring out what he meant, Desmond made his way towards him. He then turned to one of the shelves and tried to reach for a book, but he was hesitant, recalling the amount of emotions and information that surged furiously into his being after opening just one of those thing. Recoiling back his hand, he turned to back to his ancestor.

With a less confused tone -he hoped-, he asked, finally speaking the question with the right dictation, "I still don't understand. What did you _mean_ when you said you're gonna help me figure out why my life was what it was?"

After a moment, the other man finally stopped his browsing and turned his attention back to him. As a reply, he gave Desmond such a look of empathy. Or rather, it was between empathy and what Desmond took as concern. When he did speak, Altair's voice was once again reassuring. "I know you have had a lifetime of trying to figure things out yourself, if not with the help of your team, Desmond. But now that you're here, you can finally answer the questions yourself." With some amusement, he added, "You may have relived my life for a few days, but now it is my turn to relate to your story."

He placed his hand on one of the books he had collected. It appeared to be a square disk, like the one Lucy took from Abstergo all those months ago. "Here. You don't have to hold it. Just give it your attention."

And Desmond did. Actually, he had a lingering feeling inside calling to him even before Altair lifted the disk up. Immediately, he knew what it was.

"That thing has _my_ memories…doesn't it?" his voice was so calm, like he didn't even feel surprised at the realization. "Like we had with yours and Ezio's and Connor's. Oh, wait." He paused and tried to clarify. "You probably don't know them. Or rather, you might have expected Ezio, but Connor—"

A hand shot up to halt him from speaking more. With a nod, Altair said firmly, "No need to explain. As this library has revealed, they are, like me, ancestors of yours whose lives have helped you solve the problem with your would-be apocalypse. And, thanks to your sacrifice…" He stopped for awhile before giving the other man a sad smile. "I'm only sorry that you had to witness all of our tragic memories while ignoring your own agendas."

Desmond suddenly felt ashamed and lowered his head, though the place he was in made it seem less than he would feel in the material world. When he raised it again, his voice sounded remorse. "No, don't apologize. You all chose to give away your own freedom to protect everyone else's. I'm just ashamed I didn't choose to do the same until much later in my life."

"Ah, yes." The other man patted him on the shoulder again, his left hand still missing his ring finger. "Like me, you were also birthed into the Brotherhood, though both of your parents have outlived you." He sounded like that twisted bit of irony was more peculiarly amusing than devastatingly horrid.

His next reply was far more serious. "But again, unlike me, you didn't fully embrace your heritage. Don't think it shameful, Desmond. At least you had yearned for more than hidden blades and conspiracies. Unlike me… who had followed blindly until my disgrace." His hand squeezed abit, but it didn't seem like Altair showed much emotion from his recall. "You had the right idea, but not the right direction."

As the man let go of his shoulder, Desmond didn't know what to feel about that statement. True, he was fed up with the training facility that was once his home, but with the way he led his life after running away and before Abstergo had captured him, it was a very…mundane existence. Reluctantly, he replied, "I'll admit. Being a lowly bartender was a shitty way to pass the times, but I did enjoy whatever freedom I didn't have before and after that. But then I realized…"

He stopped. There was no need to extend his sentence any further. Altair knew it all as is, so he didn't have to. Blinking a little, he squinted his eyes. Was there something…._different_ about the man at the moment?

The other man's smiled, once sympathetic, now turning into pride. "That in the end, it had to be you, even when it could've been another person. In the end, you chose to return." Altair continued for him. And he was right. He had _chosen_ to go back to the Assassins, not because it was urgent for him, but because he, despite all of his complains, _wanted_ to make a difference. And in the short time he had, he made the biggest difference in the entire history of the Assassins.

For some reason, their conversation has made him feel… fulfilled. Maybe he _had_ figured something out while he was in the library, even if there were still questions about the in-between events, this part of him in-general had a closure.

Another blink and he finally realized what Altair was doing.

He was aging.

The once-simple white robes soon became more elaborate, the hems and stitches coming into detail until slowly, they had become his Mentor robes and the hood finally gaining that infamous beak. The robes he had last seen the man in the Animus. And his features, too, have changed. Graying hair and beard, scars fading, wrinkles highlighted but in the right places. He was once again the Grand Master he died as. And with one last chuckle, Altair ibn-La'Ahad handed him the disk. "Here."

Desmond eyed the disk with curiosity. He didn't need to ask what else it contained, but why was it given to him?

As if expecting the inquiry, the now-older Assassin answered. "Keep it. It is yours, after all. Besides, you can return it here after you finish your journey."

"You mean I can come back here?" He didn't want to sound hopeful, but the library still made him curious and he suddenly felt like Altair was biding him farewell, or more of a "see you later".

The library suddenly felt brighter and warmer than it had when he first came. Then, at his left, the bookshelves stacked there started moving or morphing on their own. When they had paused, Desmond found himself facing a portal. Or light beam. He couldn't surely say what it was, but it was beckoning to him, tugging at his mind to take a step inside or through it.

He turned back to Altair, the man's newest expression confirming what he had guessed. "Will you look at that?" His tone was so fatherly. All of a sudden, he didn't want to leave him, didn't want to leave this library. But at the same time, he knew he had to.

"I…have to go, don't I?" Almost apologetically, he mused to the Mentor and turning from him to the portal.

A sigh went out the other man as he nodded at his question. "Best to not keep the Second waiting, Miles. You still have other things to figure out. And yes, you can come back and visit us—"

"'_Us'_?"

"Yes, _us_." Altair smirked at him with much merriment. "Do you think I'm the only one who likes reading stories?" And with a head bob, he motioned behind him.

As he turned his head, brows were raised as indeed, there were other people with them, though he didn't even notice their presence before. There was another person, a man, behind a desk that wasn't supposed to be there. And in front of that desk, a woman, also robbed, but more colorfully, stacking books in front of the desk, probably checking it out. It might have been the more cheerful and calm expressions both people wore, but he had a problem placing their names. Several others were also found around the library, as if they were already there when he first woke up.

A heartfelt laugh emitted from the other man as Desmond turned back his attention to him. Still shocked, he murmured, "Are those two…"

"Yes, they are. " Altair confirmed, still laughing. So Maria and Malik were also with him... And he may have seen Abbas and one of Altair's kids somewhere on a table. Who else?

He didn't have time to think of it as Altair started pushing him towards the portal. "Go on. We'll discuss this part of the astral world later. The Second awaits your arrival."

"Who is this Second…?"

He didn't finish his exclamation as his right foot made contact with the light beam. Then the entire energy formation built itself around him and, while he was still holding the disk, it consumed him.

* * *

><p><em>It may have been only a few minutes, but the energy field definitely had a mass effect on the surroundings. Some of the trees in the forest were overturned –luckily, none had fallen on or near the van—, bits of the earth were crumbling over the nearby cliff and whatever amount of wildlife lived in these parts of the woods was enduring a panic frenzy all around. As for the van, well, it could have fared worse.<em>

_They just sat there, still getting the aftershock out of their physiology. William was still making them bow, paranoid about any more of those ruptures that might emit after the event. Shaun could feel the grip of the older man's fingers on the tugged fabric of his vest. Hands still on the stirring wheel and head on his lap, he turned his gaze to Crane._

_The light of her tablet was illuminating her aggravated expression. Eyes open wide, staring at nothing but the fabric of her pants and mouth in a hard line, he could sense her anticipation. Then, as if sensing his gaze, she turned her eyes to him. Suddenly, her features softened, as if the presence of another worried face was enough to give her comfort from the situation. There she was. The Rebecca he knew to still be the optimist after all this time has returned. _

_The amount of struggle he emitted to not smile at the thought was annoying._

_He could feel William's clutch on his vest loosen until he let go of either of them. Sighing, Shaun let go of the wheel as he straightened himself up, trying to loosen the gears in this body after bowing into such a tiring position._

_Then, with his usual tact, he broke the silence. "Well. Next to waiting to be rescued from Abstergo's facilities, that little rumble had to be the longest set of minutes in my life." A snort was heard from Crane and he only rolled his eyes._

_The raven-haired woman finally went back to her tablet, brows creasing as she checked the readings and reported, "It looks like the frequencies are calming down. Guess it's safe to say that the Earth is currently stabilizing itself." And with loud sigh, she stretched up her upper limbs before slouching on the back of her seat. "Apocalypse averted…wooh!"_

_He couldn't help but snort at her sudden burst of energy. "Rather cheery after surviving our first cataclysmic disaster, aren't you?"_

_But despite his sarcastic reply, he had to agree. They had avoided having the world enter the sun's second dose of fury since the first one destroyed most life on Earth a million or so years ago. Or was it only a few ten thousands? Despite all of his digging, Shaun still couldn't pinpoint an exact era that Those Who Came Before were last known before completely becoming extinct._

_A grunt got him out of his academic thinking. He turned to where it had come from and found that the older of the Miles was still bowing his head. From the sound of his restricted breathing, it seemed that William… _

…_was sobbing. _

_Or was trying to prevent himself from emitting that he was sobbing. The first drips of tears fell off the man's hairy chin, dropping on the metal floor of the van as he stared at the little puddle absentmindedly. His shoulders were shuddering as he tried futilely to stop his emotions from showing too much. Then, when he spoke, William's voice was hoarse and desperate. "I still think we could've found another way…"_

"_Sir…" was all Hastings could reply with as he watched the older man slowly break down. As he snatched a look at Rebecca, it appeared that they both had the same worried looks. But neither could come up with any words to comfort the man, for they too had feelings of regret. They all wanted to save Desmond. Find another way to rebuke the solar flare and Juno's loophole. But at his insistence, they had fled. The guilt and devastation was still clinging to their chests._

_A heave came from the woman as she tried to cover her own sobs with her gloved hand. He himself merely shook his head, wanting to cry with them, but they needed a firm thinker in this time of grieving despite the anguish inside. With a hard look, he took off his glassed and folded them on his shirt, then closed his eyes as either hands went up to hold onto both Rebecca's and William's shoulders, rubbing gently in an attempt to comfort._

_And then, too weak from the happenings, he finally allowed his own watery eyes release._

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Plaza<span>**

Alright, where was he _this _time?

It didn't seem necessary in such a realm, but he had kept his eyes shut as he phased through the portal. Wherever he was at the moment, the feeling of the beam grew less. It still lingered in his body, but he surely felt that he was at another place from the Library. He took a risk and cracked open his eyes.

Perhaps he should not have been _that_ taken aback, but he was. Desmond found himself facing a tall structure, experience making him deem it as a church tower. Eyes shooting upward, he immediately recognized it as the tower he had climbed as he relived Ezio Auditore de Firenze's youth.

Now, if that wasn't enough of a clue to who "the Second" was, then fuck it.

Curiosity beating him, he tore off his gaze and turned about to face the rest of the area. As he observed, it was a square community area. Same limestone (It was limestone, wasn't it?) pavement. Mediterranean shrubbery and trees peaking out every now and then. A few carts filled with leaves or hay loitered around. Lanterns hung around lighting the city with warm glows. Everything was as it was when he first saw it all in Ezio's Memory.

Well, except for one thing: the area lacked the busy and chatty bustle of the Florentine citizens.

It was between peaceful and eerie, but like the Library at first, not a soul aside from him could be witness from his current panoramic view. Weirdly, though, he felt that he wasn't alone.

Maybe it was the energy still inside him from going through the beam. Gently, he raised the disk that Altair had given him. How much of his life was recorded in this small piece of data he wasn't sure, but now he had to figure out his life. Or, at least, understand it more. He was about to pocket the thing when it started glowing. Eyes wide in surprised, he watched as the whole disk was basked in light until, like the portal, it disappeared.

"What. The. F—"

He shut up at the last word. That's it. He had had _enough_ magical do-hickeys happening to him as is.

Scruffily, he marched about the plaza –Oh, look. He figured out the Italian word this time.— and scanned the area for whatever being was poking at him with the aura, going 'Look! I am here! You aren't alone, fine traveler!'

"Are you looking for something, young man?"

His senses became keen and alert. As he was about to check the empty stalls near the other entrance, a gruff but accentually charming voice beckoned to him. Collecting himself, he turned to the direction of the voice.

There was another man in the vicinity. He was seated on a bench at his left that was erected between two canopy trees. And as he neared the spot, Desmond would have found the man familiar, but was fooled slightly by his attire.

The aged man sitting on the bench with a basket of burgundy grapes on his lap was indeed Ezio, but he looked much older than his last memory of the Italian. His scars were far lighter than before and his hair was merely cropped down instead of pulled back. And the clothes he was wearing were far too peasant-like than the flamboyant and armored Assassin robes he donned during the Animus sessions.

But the way the man smiled at him was profoundly Auditore, no doubt about it. Bracing himself, he made his way towards the aged Italian and spoke up.

"I'm looking for a _someone_, not a _something_. And that someone is you… Ezio Auditore."

When he finally stood in front of him, the older man looked up and, with a quirked smile, nodded and scuttled in his seat, offering him a space right next to him.

Desmond couldn't help but cough out sheepishly. "Umm… Thank you." He took the seat and tried his best not to look too shabby while doing it.

Wait. He was trying to say "Grazie". How did it end up with an English translation?

As if sensing his confusion, Ezio chuckled and offered him some of his grapes and said, "You're in the afterlife now, young man. Language barriers do not exist here. Now, take one."

After blinking a few times, Desmond started talking again. "Oh. Sorry. I'm still new to this "astral plains" thing. Altair said we could talk about it later… Or, will YOU be the one explain it further to me?" Talking about the other ancestor of his to Ezio felt unbelievably natural, like they were just talking about their other neighbor across the street. Except, well, they were centuries apart in the world of the living. Maybe death had broken those boundaries.

He took one of the grape and popped it into his mouth then started chewing. Perhaps being in the afterlife, he didn't expect it, but that grape was very juicy and sweet, like a small ball of instant wine. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ezio's pleased expression at his tasting of the grape before speaking with his usual bravado.

"Good, are they not? Their tastes," He indicated to the basket. "are based on the last vineyards I had tended before my death. And let me tell you." Another grape went into his mouth and amusingly continued. "This place had copied the _exact_ taste, if not better."

Desmond earnestly nodded in agreement. As he swallowed, he tried to think up how to continue with this "Figuring stuff out" adventure he had just entered.

"So…", he began. "_You're_ gonna help me with figuring out the events of my life, right?" He indicated that he wanted another grape and took one after Ezio allowed it before continuing. "You are…The Second?"

The older man looked at him with a sideway glance. Then, with a renaissance feel, he smirked. Oh, the all-too-famous Ezio smirk. His head then turned so he could look straight into the American's eyes.

"If I weren't The Second, boy, then we wouldn't be eating my world-renowned grapes, now would we?" The older man teased as he took another grape.

Sitting on this bench with one of his ancestors and eating the finest of fruits in a plaza of such grandeur.

Maybe another heap of mystery wasn't so bad, then.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Aaaaaand chapter 2 is done! :D

So, to recap, Altair is "The First" person Desmond meets in the afterlife. Now, he finds Ezio. In reality, the arrangements of the people Desmond will meet in the afterlife are more on the significance or impact they had than it is chronologically-based. As for what's happening in the Material Realm/living world, well, we'll continue off between Shaun, Rebecca and William. And eventually, Subject 18 (whose identify is painfully left anonymous by Ubisoft. Thanks, guys. Really. *grunts*. So…I'm probably going to have to do some creative OC-making mojo on that…)

Also, I'm sorry to the people who got confused with the past chapters' dialogue. I'm having a hard time keeping track of when I use first person and third person narratives. (Dial-Up Assassin being the former and this one the latter). Gonna have to look into that when my wi-fi gets back. OTL

_Next Update: March 9-16. Again, because of the weekends. _

Also, I'm gonna make polls about any themes I want for future fanfics. Be sure to check them out! And reviews are more than welcome! :D


	4. Just Making Sure Of

**Sidenote:** I almost forgot to thank everyone for your kind words about this fic. QwQ I didn't think my attempt at a non-crack or parodied fanfic would get those, though few.

To feet269: I'm glad you enjoyed the grape bit. It's kind of based on the vineyards old Ezio was tending to at the beginning of the mini movie, "Embers". Also, because Italian vineyards are absolutely beautiful... And open. (One day, we all should go and ask the farmers to let us pick the fruits ourselves, swear to God.)

Also, I'm thinking of putting this up at Archive Of Our Own as well. So if any of you have an account there, just find this fanfic with the same title and a tag that says "because AC3 needs a happier ending", haha.

Okay. Read on!

* * *

><p><span><strong>Peace Of Mind<strong>

Sighing, he slouched, looking up to the Florentine sky (assuming that they were sort-of in Florence.). It was just like that first Ezio session: promising of a good life.

"Tell me something."

"Why do you think I'm here, boy?" Ezio replied with a chuckle. Desmond thought he probably sounded repetitive and stupid with his first question, but he didn't intend to. The younger man lowered his head to look back to the old master.

There he eyed the worry and laughter lines, the lip scar he got from when Vieri de' Pazzi threw a rock at him. The old man once again popped another plump grape into his mouth and he himself followed suit.

After consuming the fruit, he turned back to the Italian to inquire. "The Assassin-Templar conflict. The corruptedness of the governments. The First Civilization. And, well...half of you family sabotaged and taken out. You didn't expect all of it, right?"

_Of course he didn't, numb skull._ He insulted himself, but he had to ask. Because...well..

Looking back to the cerulean sky, his lips pursed with reflection. The image of the other man and his older brother speaking of the good life was shamefully ironic.

Because if anything, it didn't go into a 'good life'.

Ezio's reply didn't sound as offended or taken aback as he might have thought."Truth be told, I was already questioning reality before Uberto snitched my father out, causing me to get 'acquainted' with the Brotherhood. But even before that, I had my suspicions of my father...in a good way." He corrected idly. "Those times during super. He skipped them occasionally, probably thinking that I only saw him disappear into more banking paperwork, but my, um, 'gift'," the man described the Eagle Vision with sarcasm, "had allowed me to see his hidden chambers. Sadly, it took me longer than I would like to admit to understand his place..._our_ place... in this conflict."

A hint of sadness and regret lingered. "Things had turned ugly right after that day. So much has happened within my lifespan. Some gaining, some losing. Before Sofia, I almost never got to relax. And here I am." And as if to emphasize, he stood up and he stretched out his arms, allowing Desmond to view his full attire in all its mundane glory.

Once more, Desmond couldn't get himself to get over those embroided and armored robes he was so used to seeing the Master Assassin in.

Again, he sighed before asking again. "But How did you become so...sure...of your decision? You were suddenly hurled into a whole new world beyond your teenage comprehensions. I know it took you long before you agreed to be part of the Brotherhood, but that meant you deliberately gave your life away to their cause. And then, it became your cause."

All the questions he was meaning to ask the man since those months in the Animus came out of the confines of his subconscious. (And when did his vocabulary-wait, when did he start _using_ that word- become so affluent?) So much he wanted to know about the man, even when he had already lived his life. He wanted to know the inbetweens. And the afters.

He shook his head, trying to clear away those questions for layer when he realized that the other man was no longer sitting next to him.

"Oh, boy. More astral weirdness..." Slowly standing up, Desmond's gaze tore around the plaza to find the Mentor. How did that aged man get up and about without him noticing?

Deciding to look about the place, he searched even the haystacks and stalls around the square, but no sight of Ezio still. Finally giving up, he went back to the bench they were sitting. Then he stopped, the sight of the grape basket the other had on the bench top causing him to speculate.

"Ezio? Hey. Ezio!" He started calling out to the air. "The hell did you get at, old man?"

And no, he didn't feel _any _shame upon insulting the man's age.

Just then, something dropped next to his feet. Questioningly looking down, Desmond saw that it was a pair of gloves. His hands, upon reaching down for them, felt metal and leather mixed on the apparel. Then the Italian's trademark snickering could be heard from the direction the gloves had dropped from.

And indeed, he could see the older man perched up on a window sill of the tower from the basillica what's name he dare not bother to remember. Ezio was lingering in his hanging and bobbed his head to urge Desmond to follow suit.

"Well, don't keep me waiting, child! Hurry and catch up with me, eh?", He taunted at the American before quickly making his way up the separate tower.

Indignantly, Desmond put on the gloves before sprinted over the base of the tower. The he picked out his route before grabbing on hold the first ledge. He began following Auditore up the tower.

Said man started speaking back to him as they climbed. "Humans are naturally curious beings, Desmond. That is why I was suspicious of my father. And though I had tried to brush off Uncle Mario's invite to the Brotherhood and the true origins of the conflict, I yearned for answers while taking action to eliminate those who wish me not only death, but darkness." He paused before jumping up, then quickly grabbing hold on an empty brick hole and pulling himself up higher.

"But even when I had some answers, they only gave me more questions. And a further cause to search for them. After Minerva, after paving the way for the Assassins to spread, and even after all the pain and confusion the came I still persisted. It then led me to Constantinople before I found out more about Altair. And you know what?"

Desmond paused in his climbing. It wasn't surprising that he wasn't even tired (not even surprised with Ezio's own ascension), but he kept noticing that the tower...didn't seem right. He could have _sworn_ that he and the other man would have reached the bells right now, but it was like they were still a long way from it.

It took him awhile before realizing that he hadn't replied to Ezio yet, then said, "What do I know?" As he clutched at another ledge, his kind started racing. Of the whole time he had spent reliving the lives of his ancestors, he could probably second guess what they would do in most situations and yet...what would they have thought while they were in those situations, then?

The other man stopped, gazing down on him before saying in the most relieving tone, "For the first time in years, at that moment, I was sure." He waited for Desmond to be right at his side before continuing. "I then knew that there were those who would continue my work. Knew that my time to relax was nigh. And I knew, then and there, that what I did made a difference. Not just for the Auditores. Not just for the Brotherhood. And just for this world. And only then and there, did I let myself be with Sofia, our children, and our vineyards. And even when I thought myself to no longer want to linger. Having been less than active with the conflict, other people, like Shao Jun, reconfirmed to me that there will still be others, not only willing but capable and understanding, to continue on, even when certain hings seem to contradict it."

Sometime between that speech, Ezio looked past him with a warm spark in his eyes. Seeing Desmond's raised brow, the man nodded downward and the younger man followed suit.

He tried to keep his hold firm despite his initiate shock at discovering that the once-empty plaza was now packed with music, lights, and people. Although there were stalls and performers, it didn't look like the usual business of the plaza. But it felt like everyone was having a good time, like the most pleasant festival Desmond could ever witness. And he felt that all who were involved and had known Ezio, whether they were Assassin or Templar, civilian or ruler, young or old, they were all in that plaza.

"Will you look at that...", he repeated Altair's reaction to the portal appearing infront of them earlier before gazing to Ezio, but just as he had turned back, the older man had started climbing again.

As he continued to follow, Desmond had realized something: no matter what the age or situation, Ezio Auditore still had that aura that meant that he was looking forward to the good life, as if Federico was waiting for them both at the top of the tower-

A person could be seen leaning over to look down upon them. Could it be...

"Hey, you two! Hurry up, or you'll miss the big finale!" Federico Auditore, with his spirited mirth, called over to them. Ezio by now had gotten to the top and greeted his ironically younger-looking older brother with an embrace.

Finally, Desmond's gloved hands grasped at the cinnamon roof tiles of the tower. As he started hauling himself up, the two Italians firmly took hold of both his arms to pull him up with ease. When he got his balance, he was still abit shocked at how little the effort he needed was.

"Now, let me ask _you_ something, Desmond?", he heard Ezio speak once more. With a hint of taunting.

The American blinked slightly at that question. He had been the one asking since he got to this place so it took awhile to let it sink in before nodding to allow the inquiry.

With an air of bravado, the Italian leaned over and pulled him close so that they were at eye level with each ither. Pausing, he asked with hinting intimidation, "Do you have faith?"

All the other did at Desmond's confused expression was give out a heart-filled laugh before turning him around to face the plaza. In the midst of the bright landscape, he spotted a haystack at the base of the tower.

And maybe now, he wouldn't mind kicking the Mentore for that pun.

But as he looked back, the older man merely shook his head. "That wasn't what I meant, but this is how you'll be going to The Third."

He rolled his eyes at that. Great, mire enumerated people. They were sending him off again _just _when more people (or souls, he supposed?) started showing up.

"Do I have faith in what?", he asked back in exasperation and urgency. So many cryptic messages. Like he hadn't had enough of those while he was still alive?

Somewhat in reply, both Ezio and Federico motioned for the plank that suddenly had appeared before them. Still keeping his eyes on them, Desmond walked over near the edge of the wood, too familiarized with the Leap of Faith to bother being afraid of their current height.

Finally, with a warm and genuine smile, Ezio firmly asked, "Do you have faith in humanity?"

Now _that _bit made him think for abit. As his mind went to those chronological years with the Assassin team he had, of Lucy, Shaun, Rebecca, and his father. Then it went to all those sessions, witnessing how man had gone throw triumph and downfall in each other's hands as well as to nature itself, but still kept on despite all of the struggle and obstacles.

The human race was an interesting bunch, really.

Positioning himself, he looked down again before turning his head, firmly nodding to the two brothers.

"I never lost it. Thank you, Ezio."

And with that, he leaped forward, the exhilierating feeling still present even when there was no air to pass through his face, hearing the cheers of the people in the square, bidding him a fair and fruitful journey.

Then flipping on his back before he made contact with the hay, the plaza slowly became vague and distant from his senses as the energy beam once again took him into another moment

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Woot! A chapter that's actually submitted BEFORE my the week was up. Yep, on a roll here! XD

So, yeah. REALLY went far to give Ezio's time with Desmond the ENTIRE chapter. (Then again, he was more involved in the AC fandom than most of the protagonists, so yeah. long and cheesy chapter. OTL)

Also, no Interlude for now. But it's gonna be interesting on the next chapter. (With some spoilers, I guess.)

_Next update: Most likely the end of March or early April. _

Wish me luck!

Reviews and suggestions still welcome. :D


	5. For Your Information

Aside from the lateness, this chapter might raise a few brows. But that's to be expected.

A quick reminder, by the way: the "souls" Desmond meets per odd chapter will appeared accordingly based on the impact of their lives (or death) on Desmond throughout the series prior to sacrificing himself in AC3. So, no. This isn't exactly a "Desmond talks to his grandpas" fic, though it partially is. It's a self-realizing journey...thing.

Also, apologies for my inaccurate description of the Canadian city in the Interlude. I've never been to Montreal (but dang, I would want to go there someday), so please excuse the lack of flair in my narrating here. OTL

Explanation done. Read on!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Interlude<strong>_

_Adjusting the red and black cap on her head, Rebecca made her way to meet up with Shaun at a nearby coffee shop. She looked around, admiring the beautiful display that was of Montreal during the autumn season. Occasionally, a few of the withered leaves would be on her path and she relished in the crunchy sound they made as her feet stepped on them across the pavement._

_Taking note of all the traffic and street signs in Québécois French, the Assassin couldn't help but marvel at the already bustling hassle of Downtown Montreal. Workers and businessmen alike braving the cold but bright weather this early in the morning. _

_It wasn't like the metropolitan cities back in America, but she didn't mind that at all._

_Crossing the pedestrian lane at the next intersection, the computer expert could see the destined coffee shop, a small but cozy-looking place filled with many hip and curious customers, just at the other side of the street she was currently at. Making another crossing, Rebecca then made for the Pikolo Espresso Bar's simplified but inviting glass door. The subtle air conditioning prickling her skin after she had entered, he eyes scanned the couches, tables and side bars until she spotted a familiar face. A sly twitch of her lips came as she went over to table._

_Shaun was sitting there, not looking very interested in his surroundings as he sipped from the styrofoam cup, head down while he sat straightly. He merely gave a slight lift of his cap as acknowledged greeting when Rebecca leaned on the table with one hand._

_"Waiting up on me, Shaun?" she teased, eyeing the other coffee cup and a plate of croissants, one half-eaten, near the opposite chair. "Oh, you thought ahead: I was gonna ask you to treat me to a joe. And you even bought me food. How intuitive of you!" In mock flattery, she took the empty chair and leaned over to rest her elbows on the spruce table. _

_Shaun merely responded with a 'Hmph', placing his cup on the table as he leaned back on his own cushioned seat, answering with a drawl, "Figured you'd be hungry the minute you see the café. Go on. Take a bite. The croissants are as delightful as the feel of the place."_

_It was almost welcoming, so yeah. She was gonna have a generous bite of the croissant, and she did, her teeth sinking in to bite off and chew. It was amazing, the crust mixing so well with the softer bit of the bread as the chocolate inside mingled with her taste buds._

_Damn, she was going to owe Shaun a heap after this._

_Rebecca could even make out the brief smirk on his face as he__ took out a laptop from a bag that was under the table at his feet. As the laptop lit up his face, her friend looked over the screen before addressing her again._

_"Better fill up before we get to "work". And try to practice your French better." He chided, eyes going about the local Québécois clientage around him, probably staring at all the English they were conversing on._

_In response, Rebecca swallowed the last bit of her croissant before truing out the words to her tongue. "Oui oui, mon capitaine!" She just snorted at the disgruntled look Shaun gave her as she went and took a sip from her own coffee. Espresso. He guessed her right._

_Then, all the humor set aside as she spoke with a more cautious tone, "So, run by me again what we're gonna do at 'work'. Any more word from John?"_

_It had been almost a year since their trip to the Grand Temple. A year after Desmond was left there. What happened to his body on their return after the solar flare was unknown until Gavin told them about Abstergo's "Sample 17 Project"._

_To answer her question, Shaun spoke discreetly, "Well, according to him, they're using samples to try out in their latest project. As for the source of those samples, he's not exactly revealing too much. It's either that, or he's hiding something from us. If not us, from any security cams around the facility." He paused, lips resting on his index finger as he hummed, then added. "But it's there. It all leads up to _that_."_

Just a few more days, Desmond. We'll find you.

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Lounge Room<span>**

The last fragments of cheering immediately went out of earshot as he had flopped on his back to land on the hay stack. But he didn't feel the itchiness of the hay, only the energy that had first transported him to the square and to Ezio.

It was growing on him, whether or not he welcomed the feeling.

At one point, he blinked. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't falling against the air anymore (Not that there WAS any air in this place. It wasn't necessary.). In fact, he was sitting down, arms resting on a sleek, black table. A quick look down confirmed that his bottom was on some kind of soft but simplified ottoman chair, a short but soft back supporting him. His ears were greeted by soft chattering from all around

And he may have been mistaken, but a normal amount of curiosity and confusion had actually returned to him as his peripheral view took in his current location.

Wherever this was in the realm, the place looked pretty...cozy, if not for a better word for it. It looked like some kind of lobby; A warm incandescent light engulfing the scene, giving whatever color anything here was a yellowish tint. Tables and chairs similar to the ones he was currently occupying arranged around the room(?) not too orderly, but had enough distance from each other to give some personal space for the occupants. And the people around where so relaxed and casual. He didn't know any of them, but he felt like they were immersed in their conversations with each other, some involving other people from a different table involved.

It was dumb of him, but an image of three known people entered his mind, but he shook it off.

Even though at the back of his mind, he started calling the place 'kind of corny', he didn't mind _being_ there. Still, he'd have liked to know why he was there. And who this 'Third' person was going to be.

Desmond took a minute to filter the recent events so far. He was in some kind of afterlife, having met two of his ancestors as 'guides' who had either cleared up or gave him pointers in coping with his current situation. So, maybe Connor would be his Third person? Not that he was sure it was an ancestral thing happening right now, but he had some hunches.

Absent-mindedly, his hands went to his lap as those thoughts went through his mind when his right hand felt something in his pant thigh and he tried not to look too surprised. It was square and thin. Could it be..

Digging into his pocket, he instantly knew as he fished out the black disk container Altair gave him. How the heck did it even _get_ in there? And why did it magically disappear in the first place?

The grunt he emitted was neither aggravated nor please, just slightly surprised that the disk came back to him somehow. He could figure out his life bit by bit but not figure out how a tiny piece of plastic just keeps popping up on him? He rotated the disk in his hands, tempted to open it and take out what he'd guess would be a CD. But with the way his life had gone, he wasn't thrilled by the idea enough and was about to pocket it again-

"I see you got the disk back."

The male voice behind him made him jump enough to drop the disk. Fuck, why was everyone doing that to him?!

And the voice behind him only made his aggravation more profound. Because he knew that voice.

_How the HELL did that bastard even get here?_

He may not have felt afraid, but Desmond was still paranoid, looking down slowly as the person's hand reached down to pick up the disk. He tried his hardest not to clench his hands into fists in defence as he turned himself around in his seat.

And sure enough, it was him.

Light skin, stuck-up dirt-blond hair and goatee, yellow hoodie under a black jacket, smug look on his motherfucking face. The last time he saw those on a person, he was aiming a gun at him at the Italian Abstergo facility.

As if basking in his confusion, Cross gave put a hafl-hearted cackle. "What? Surprised to see me in Paradise, kiddo?"

* * *

><p><span><strong>Meeting the Third<strong>

**_No shit I'm surprised!_**

His hands quickly went and grabbed the table behind his for leverage, urging his body to not be tensed as Daniel Cross stood next to him, holding the disk that had his memories.

_How did this place let a mole like him into the afterlife? _

As if hearing his thoughts (or this astral place was allowing them to be known), the other went to lean his arm on the table he was gripping for dear life and looked down at him. But it wasn't some scrutinizing gaze. Rather, it was plain curious. As if... As if he's looking _fondly_ at him.

"How'd a jerk like you get here Cross? Come to finish me off, even though we're both already _dead_?", he spat, sneering the that face.

To another surprise for him, Cross's features _actually softened _as he spoke in bizarrely kinder tone, "Hey, I thought you'd have remembered that the Daniel Cross that tried to kill you and take you in wasn't really me. It was the chip talking." A deep sigh came out, eyes closed, as if in regret while his hand offered the disk back to him.

Desmond's gripped relaxed and his hands one again flew back to his lap, taking in all this. Suddenly, his mind raced That's right: right at the last minute, Cross was about to shoot him point blank when he started spazzing out, dropping his gun and accusing himself before running away from him.

All he could reply to that was to grab the disk with as little spite as he could surpress. The line on his lips became less strained as he also spoke out, "So, you actually didn't want to kill me then?"

This time, it was Cross' turn to look conflicted.

"I've tried to fight it, really I did. But it wasn't until you showed up in Manhattan that the old and _real _me started digging his way out. So, when you killed me... It was really _me_. So... Thanks." He shrugged it off, taking back his arm and standing straight again, hands in his pocket.

he truly didn't know what to say to that. All those times, he had thought of the man as a traitor to a Cause he himself had taken for granted at first, but now here they were, chatting like they weren't just at each other's throats a few days ago...

It WAS only a few days from now, wasn't it?

"Okay... But what now?" He asked the ex-double agent. "Are you here to clear some disillusioned part of my life, too? " Exasperatedly, he jested, "Kind of ironic that you, of all people, ended up as my Third person, right?"

Suddenly, the room was filled with the other's roared-out laughter. Desmond looked confusingly and sourly as his question was what humored the other.

"Well, what? Are you my Third person or _NOT_?" He persisted his inquiry And waited as the laughter quited down to small spurts before Cross got his hold on himself again.

He was smiling. And like those smug or murderous smirks he'd give off before. This was a genuine expression. Cross then spoke again, "I'm actually a 'Traveler', like you are right now. I just finished talking to my Fourth person right over there." His index finger pointed another table behind his shoulder.

As Desmond craned bis head out of curiosity, he saw at a nearby table a woman, probably as old as Daniel was when they were alive, wearing a white jacket over a blue top. Her auburn hair swayed as she leaned back to wave meekly at him.

"Hannah's an Assassin, you know. Actually the reason I was able to stay sane enough before Abstergo picked me up. " He could hear Cross state as he himself looked on. So _she's_ the one that tried to help this nutjob. Well, seems like she forgave him for, well, killing her and all.

"Well," Cross continued as a hand patted Desmond's shoulder, the latter flinching from the touch out of awkwardness. "I have to go. I wanna wrap this up before I can try to catch up with Hannah again. Also, your Third person is here."

"They are?" He suddenly snapped out of it, turning about and shrugging off Cross's hand before looking at the other seat. First off, Daniel Cross had completely vanished. Not even a decent 'good-bye' was given and he left him. Second, he could sense another person present, sitting across from him on the other Ottoman seat.

Completely turning about to meet his Third, he wasn't prepared for the woman seating across him. As if he didn't just stab and kill her back in Rome.

"Good day, Desmond. Ready for another session?", Lucy Stillman greeted him.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's note:<strong> If you've been let into a wild goose chase reading this chapter, GOOD. that's exactly what I intended. XD

So, yes: Lucy Stillman is Desmond's "Third". If hormones and angst existed in the astral life, then the next chapter might be filled with it.

And Hannah Mueller is actually from the "Subject 15" comic book of the AC franchise.

And apologies, both for the lateness of this chapter and the fact that we didn't get ANY conversation between him and Lucy despite the third segment being called "Meeting The Third", but yeah. I just wanted to give it a little side liner before the real deal.

_Next update: Mid or late April. Also, in case the dry season in my country lessens, the next update will be later than expected as well._

Also, is anyone here good at video-editing? I've been DYING to make some kind of trailer or teaser pic for this fanfic (I'm capable of the latter but want the former.) So, if anyone would like to help, PM me. In return, I can do a few doodles and some drabbles, hopefully. QwQ

Okay. Ciao~!

~Itchy


	6. Let Bygones Be Bygones

**Notice:** I'm really motivated now, especially after seeing all the reviews you people gave me the last chapter. And I even got some of you to READ Mitch Albom's work! A thousand and one thanks from me to you all! OeO

And, truthfully, I was either distracted or unsure of how to do this chapter. Like I said, I'm trying to put the right amount of hormone-induced feelings in this. And angst. Lucy WAS with him since the beginning, so... Yeah.

Many of you all expected Lucy to be the Fifth and final guide in Desmond's 'journey'. If I had disappointed some of you, sorry for that. But there's a reason why Lucy's the Third: they have to clear something up before Desmond continues on to The Fourth and The Fifth. (And do try to pay attention to their conversations. It's not in order of any sorts, but each had held significant attention from Desmond in one way or another.) And DAMN. The Interlude fought me all the way. I tried to think up a proper way to present Subject 18's (Or whatever the character's real name would be. Dang anonymity...) narrative in this. Got writer's block even. Sorry again and I'm thankful for anyone of you who has been patient with me on this. *cries*

And the Interlude is just a rendition of the Interlude from AC4, with a few liberties and hints of spoilers, sadly. Please tolerate me. OTL

That said and done, I'd also like to announce that I've made a Poll concerning this fanfic. (Or the 'universe' this fanfic is in, at least.) Go ahead and find it in my bio! :D

Okay. Now, let's see how much hormones and angst I can fit into this non-materialized fanfic.

Read on!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Uncomfotable Reunion<span>**

She was there. Sitting across from him with a calm and friendly aura about her. If he weren't in this realm, he'd have activated his Eagle Vision, not only to see if she was either his ally or enemy, but also to clarify that she really _was_ there with him!

His sudden motion standing up had knocked over his ottoman, but he gave little attention to it, all of his focus went to _her_.

It was as if they were back to when he was first being held at Abstergo's Italian facility. Same blond hair in a bun. Same white blouse and black skirt.

And remarkably, no stab wound. No blood stains. No look of anguish from her sudden death. Just Lucy.

The man could care less about the knocked over ottoman and his edging away from the table. For the first time since coming to this place, he felt the first truly human emotion that could register: devastation. And it washed over him like a tsunami as he kept his gaze at her.

He thought that he'd gotten over that after confronting Juno. Clutched fists, twitching eyes and a twisted knot in his chest weren't indicators that he had gotten over it fully, it seemed. Why, of all times, were all his emotions coming back _now_?

"...but I was...", he gasped out between the tremors in his voice. "...I was the one who ended you."

The image of his body slowly making its way towards the woman, hidden blade jacked up to stab her, entered his mind, but the other showed no sign that his words affected her. Still wearing that lift in her lips, Lucy answered, "Yeah, we're going to get to that later. But maybe you should take a seat, Desmond."

It was after blinking out his shock that the words registered in his mind. Forcing himself to relax, Desmond bent over to straighten up the ottoman before scooting to take a seat again. He was looking at the table, not wanting to see her blue eyes again until he was _sure_ this realm wasn't shitting with him. Mimicking drawn-out breath out of impulse, he grunted, "I guess eventually, I'd have to face you again. And, well...maybe you being my "Third" isn't that surprising, but..."

He cut himself off and glanced at her. Lucy was shaking her head at him, making feel indignant, before she bluntly put, "You're wondering what a back-stabbing Templar plot twist like me is doing here, right?"

Desmond tried and failed to hide the flabbergasted face aroused by her reply. Yes, he found it peculiar that of all people in his life, Lucy was present among his 'guides', but then he remembered Daniel Cross earlier. Remembered something he said.

'_That wasn't the real me back there.'_

But before he could say something, the woman continued. "This place we're currently in, Desmond. It's not exactly what most people would call 'Heaven'. Also, even if it were, people like me... well, I'd look more appropriate in something similar to 'Purgatory'." Her nose wrinkled, bemused at the idea. Desmond couldn't help but mentally agree at that hypothesis while she lectured again. "Remember when Juno told you about the conscience being circuits and—"

"Wait. How did _you_ know about that?" He almost stood up again, but he held his position on the chair, settling instead to grasping the edge of the table before nodding. "Tch. Yeah. She said something about how it was a load of electrical circuits that it could be transferred." And in his case, the Precursor bitch chose _him _to materialize her.

Lucy nodded affirmatively. "In a sense. The human conscience—or the _soul, _to generalize it—is in itself a form of energy. And as simple physics suggest, energy can't be destroyed. It can only be reshaped into another form of energy." She then spread her arms at shoulder level, hands indicating much of the Lounge. "Hence why we—our souls, again pardon—are here. Taking in any of this, Des?"_  
><em>

He may be dead, but it still took him a few seconds to process all that. So technically, he, Lucy, and everyone else were forms of energy? And the energy all gather to _this_ place when they die? That explained why his ancestors and several ancient people were here, including those he _knew_ deserved the deepest fire pits of Hell. Not that this realm was either Heaven _or_ Hell...

"Okay... I'm going to pretend I got most of that." The Assassin grumbled out, a hand to his temple like pain had actually registered in his brain for once. It was their Animus sessions all over again, sans the impending deadline of the would-have-been Apocalypse. But the knot in his chest pushed him to ask, "Still. Why _you_? I mean," He couldn't find any amount of words that didn't sound like he was accusing her, so he scoffed. "After all you've been through at Abstergo. After all _we've_ been through in Italy... You were gonna stab us in the back."

Desmond finally looked back at her. The blonde woman's lips were formed in a hard line, summing him up from across the table. Then, her voice stern, she replied. "Yes, Desmond. I turned to the Templars in the end. Even before we met up with the others back at the Warehouse. I was already a reversed mole before then. But that wasn't just it, you know." It still didn't soundlike it bothered her, but hell. She fooled them enough already.

His hands clasped together as he took in Stillman. Scrutinizing was the best to describe his tone. "No shit. I didn't want to believe Juno when she revealed your double alliance." Another pang of angst—though vague, it was there—made him take a moment before talking again. "But she showed me what would happen if I didn't comply. You'd give us all away, drag me back to their machines, give Vidic the Apple and launch that diabolical satellite. But guess what, Lucy." The gritting of his teeth wasn't felt, but his voice still had an edge. He opted to wait for her to speak instead.

She _knew_ what he was going to say. Knew what would happen if he didn't allow the blade to end her. Just like how _he_ knew what touching the pedestal would have caused for him.

It appeared that he was right. Leaning forward with her fingers tentatively around her chin, she finished for him. "Abstergo would've failed either way when the machine would work with the Apple. And the world would've combusted into oblivion" Slowly, her cerulean orbs looked up at his brown ones, tired than they were earlier. Her shoulders sagged as she said softy. "I know Desmond."

Again, why was the realm giving back his pain when he didn't want it? Desmond tried surprisingly hard to try and not yell out, looking at his tattooed arm with such focus, letting the wave wash over. "Do you know what that put me through, Lucy?"

His vision revealed a fair and dainty hand reaching over to him. He didn't try to retaliate nor did he reconsider it. But her words definitely reached him. "That's why I'm here, Des. I owe you my side of the story."

* * *

><p><span><strong><em>Interlude<em>**

_I finished another Animus session. The pirate character I'm playing, Edward Kenway, found out about this Sage guy, Roberts, and told the fat merchant he made friends with that he could sell off this Observatory place and run off with a fortune. After capturing the Sage, he then went to free the guy again. (Like, wow. What a waste of my Animus time.) Unfortunately, his Templar buddies, who were onto his real identity, caught on and beat him to the Sage's cell. They kept asking for his real name and he said "Captain Pissoff"._

_I think I'm gonna call him that from now on, hehe. _

_Could probably go on about the Sage and his escape with an African slave, but had to take a break from my session. When I logged out, I had to take a breather before the room stopped spiraling around me. My head finally cleared and the first thing I heard was Melanie's peppy voice. She came into view a second later, her tablet and smile at the ready as she spoke._

_"I just saw that you were logging out and thought I'd stop by to give you something. Little welcome gift." The last word was pitched before she indicated to my right, still talking. "We give awards to our employees who do top quality work."_

_On my once-empty shelf was a figurine of, who'd ya know, Edward Kenway. And the details on it, too! Could even make out the stubble on his chin. I turned back to Melanie, slightly gleeful._

_She continued, "They're nice to have since there's no official bonus scheme here. I already have about eleven on shelves. Oh!" Her hand went up to her earpiece with a 'Bonjour?'. After affirmatively speaking to the other line, she turned back to me."Well, looks like Olivier wants to meet with you! That's me."_

_As she started to walk off, I stood up and followed her out of my station as she started again, "It's on the top floor, so it shouldn't be hard to find. The rest of this building can be confusing to first timers," We made a turn around some plants. "So, we had the tools team whip out a great map application. Check your communicator! I added a weight point to Olivier's office. Shouldn't be hard to find!"_

_Tap sliding some buttons, I activated the map as we got to the elevator. She said something about Olivier being a nice guy. Seemed like one the first time I met him. If not rather playful._

_We parted at an elevator and Melanie wished me luck as the sliding doors closed behind it rose, a call popped up in my communicator, but I didn't answer it. Weird... __A male voice spoke out._

"Hello? Testing, testing. Is this thing working?" _A cough emitted before he continued._ "This is John, from I.T..We met earlier? I was calibrating your Animus?"

Yeah. I met your legs and your toolbox._ But it got weird after that... _

"I'm sort of the, um, scout, of this Abstergo Enterprise. In-charge of all the tech stuff? Do you have a minute-Oh. Ah, damn tracker says you're on your wait to Olivier's office." _A grunt of displeasure came before he continued._ "Ah, alright. I'll ping you when you're done. I have a favor to ask." _John discreetly said before tuning out. The elevator stopped and the doors slid off._

_What's that guy up to?_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Other Side Of The Coin<strong>

Another few moments of staring at that fair skin over his tanned and tattooed palette before he slowly looked back up to her. With all the confusion, angst and urge for reconciliation that suddenly started building up before, he faced her placid face.

"Tell me, then." He said this without a quiver in his voice. Lucy's first reply was a satisfied smile.

Suddenly, a blink later and the Lounge was disturbingly unoccupied, save for the two of them. The other "travelers" of "guides" were no longer present, their chatter sucked out. Only he, Lucy and the furniture they occupied were left of the room. Little shock was felt for by now, he was used to this Realm's surprises. Desmond braced himself for the other's story.

She slowly retracted her hands from his, placed neatly on what he would guess was her lap before speaking, "Like you, I was also raised away from most of captivity, deprived of a normal childhood and trained to be the Assassin I am...or was, pardon." She corrected herself before Desmond could nag out.

"But unlike you, I waited out my training until the Brotherhood and your dad assigned me to infiltrate Abstergo. I detached myself supposedly from the them, taking a college course with vigor, but then my mentors didn't really approve of my topic Said what I was researching was pseudo-science. But just look at how the Animus worked out so well. Pseudo-science. Tsk." A roll of the eyes before she continued. "After that, I just kept going back and forth, applying for other universities and trying to hold whatever job I could... Okay, not _those_ jobs, though." Her hands waved negatively in emphasis and Desmond took a second before he realized the implementation.

"No. I wasn't thinking that. I know you enough to not be that desperate." He immediately said to dismiss the notion, but he couldn't helps but feel that he actually knew very little of his friend-turned-traitor.

But he shook it off and asked, "You've already told me some of that, you know. I even know that Vidic contacted you because he saw your potential, and...", he paused because he wanted to say he couldn't blame Vidic, but he didn't want to patronize that bastard for anything. "So, what happened while you worked at Abstergo that we _didn't_ know? You said you meant to be assigned and go incognito there."

She nodded back. Then, as if sighing, the said, "At first it _was_ 'going undercover'. I collected as much information as I could and somehow passed it onto Bill." William's nickname came unnoticed as she added, "But then, my situation changed. Even after Vidic got his hold on me after dismissing my extermination, the more I worked there, the more I felt like I was really _doing_ something. Sure, the Assassins made it their secret call to protect people's free will, but Abstergo Industries did work publicly to _help_ people, even when it's usually a cover-up. Not only that, my studies were of meaningful use there. I...never felt so involved. And even after Clay..." She paused, a hard line forming on her lips and her hands clasped together.

Hmm. Apparently, Clay still held her guilt in place, despite her betrayal. But she was still hiding back on him, so Desmond interrupted. "Why? Wasn't your knowledge useful when you guys handled my Animus sessions? You were even careful around me."

Ahh, and the Animus shoved itself back into his head again.

The look Lucy gave him was heavy with exhaustion. "Yes, but I was only of use while we were investigating Ezio's memories. Besides, I think William was onto me the minute Vidic first found the Warehouse."

The woman looked up at the room, but then it morphed again. It reminded him partially of the Nexus, only less shimmering and less glyph-emblemished. When the morphing halted, they were now in what might have been the Warehouse. They were in the very room where he first met Rebecca and Shaun, all their equipment perfectly duplicated.

"Hmm..Call me corny, but this brings back old memories, huh Luc...Woah." As he looked back at her, Lucy herself had changed clothes, her white shirt and blue jeans back.

As much as he liked that look on her better (Her fashion, not whatever else he might come up with!), the change of scenery out of the blue was getting to him. "Is all this supposed to help me go through stuff or are you just doing this to make me regretful?" The tone shred, but he followed suit as she got up from her ottoman and walked away from the table, beckoning him to walk as well.

Shrugging at the statement, a small curve lifted from her mouth as Lucy continued. "We've all had enough guilt and regret in our lives, Desmond. And I don't need warping imagery to make that point." Making her way towards the ground floor, she added, "But you know what my point is?"

Her feet stopped near the first few boxes. And so did he, waiting for what else needed to be said. She summed him up, from foot to face, and her eyes stayed there.

"Even if you saw all of Clay's evidence and Minerva's visions, you didn't know this: I turned my back on you because I thought it was the right thing. I mean, Assassins and Templars, religious sectors of sorts, even common friends have been fighting each for what each of them thought was _right_. What was _best_. What was _proper_. " She closed her eyes, taking an unnecessary deep breath (Do people of this realm just do it out of habit?) and added, "I've been on both sides, Des. But in the end, I don't think I know what's rightfully best for anyone anymore."

This time, it was _his _turn to purse his lips in deep thought. Somehow, he should have realized that much. He, Lucy, the Assassins and Templars, and everyone, really. They all made choices they though was the best, only to have the universe throw life at them. The e-mails he read on the computer back at Villa Auditore made him think of what might be if he didn't read them, but... One particular e-mail made by Lucy to Vidic made him think...

He said softly, barely above a whisper. "What's done is done now, I guess. As much as I wish some of it happened differently, we wouldn't have been the way we are. Still...It can't be helped that you, of all people, would do that. It's ike Minerva said: we spent millenia after millenia fighting the other team when neither of us saw the big picture." As sober as he could, he side-glanced at her. "But you saw through it, didn't you?"

Lucy raised her hands palms-up in reply. "Like I said, I've been on both ends of the battle. But what I can tell you is that I poured myself into my work in both sides." She chose some low-stacked boxes to hit on, patting the space next to her for Desmond to sit on.

Desmond couldn't help but raise a brow at the her gesture. It was so...effeminate. Not that Lucy was a tomboy, but...well... Whatever. He took a seat either way, surprised that they were this close. The only other times they were was when they entered through the sewers on the Villa.

And again, the Warehouse melted and they were in the Sanctuary once more. The boxes turned into rubble, piled up horizontally.

"The coin has two sides, Desmond. But it's a matter of realizing that they're on the same piece of metal." Lucy said softly, looking down. When Desmond's own eyes went down, he saw that her hand was still on the rock surface, close to his thigh.

Well, that escalated nicely. He'd expected a less casual moment, really.

Without moving his own hand, despite the slight finger flexing, he gazed at the statues of the Assassin legends, suddenly fatigued from all the remembering. "I knew it had to be done, but..." He started, hurt abandoned and timidly spoke. "I didn't like stabbing you, Luce."

Lucy emitted a snort before saying, "Not that I enjoyed the idea of you in a coma, but thank you."

He was too tired in soul that he couldn't feel the foreign warmth on his fingers, but it was there.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's note:<strong> Okay. This has tobe the HARDEST chapter I've EVER done in ANY fanfiction I wrote. And somehow, I think I didn't do enough on this.

And Ubisoft, that 4 narrative co-op in Unity better be worth enduring the anonymous Subject 18, dammit.

Again, sorry this took so long, but my battle with writer's block was a harsh one, regardless of my victory over it. I'm so behind. OTL But about 3000+ words, minus the "notes" is something, eh?

_Next update: May 25-26. Yes. Alot will happen before these days aside from me updating Dial-Up Assassin, including a surgery after I turn 20 years old. So, I hope you guys will be as patient with me. QAQ_

Also, may or may not clip a "preview scene" for my upcoming Edward Kenway fic, "Saved By The Devil", especially since I STILL need to get and play AC 4 before said surgery. ^^;

Be seeing you on yhe next update!

_~Itchy_


	7. Renewed Visionary

**Beta read by the stupendous swegm!**

**Notice:** I can't believe my surgery's being delayed, but the doctors are still discussing my situation. I can be patient, but I really hate waiting. Again. *sighs*

Luckily, though. I'm back to writing and games again. (In hopes to battle this artist's block I've caught since my last check up.) And now, I've finished playing Black Flag and will use whatever the gameplay had showed me to write this fic some more.

(I just really hope I can finish this fic before the release date of AC: Unity. I've got catching up to do and now there are these new gen games a-coming. Dear Lord! TAT )

So, we're wrapping it up with Lucy, catching up with what's happening in the canon world of the living (with the remaining Assassins and the anonymous Subject 18', who is actually just a miscellaneous research analyst in the game) preparing for Desmond's Fourth 'guide'...and something SUPERCALAFRAGILISTIC EXPIALODOTIOUSLY CORNY in this chapter. *spazzes out repeatedly*

FYI, also, Gavin Banks is an Assassin and friend of William Miles, based on the canon timeline in Assassin's Creed Initiates. Do try to Google him up. This one chapter can't explain everything, you know! OeO Oooh, getting close to that big something at the end, folks! Just a few more chapters!

Read on~!

* * *

><p><strong><em>Interlude<em>**

_The ship was swivering dangerously to port*, causing any items that weren't stashed or nailed to the floor to roll about his bunk. The shouts of crewmen and the howling winds could be heard up on deck, but Gavin gave little heed to those. Unless it turned into a typhoon, the S.S. Altair II didn't need his hands. Those two hands weren't quite busy, but they didn't seem of use at the moment._

_His fingers roamed and traced around the worn-out leather jacket of the journal. It had been months now, but the image of poor Bill handing the book-his Codex, it seemed-to him with such lost and defeated eyes still tore at him, no matter how intensely he poked at the book. He had already opened and read some of its contents, but due to the dire state of the organization the world-round, he and his crew had little time to concentrate on what they knew William Miles wanted them to find. But what they had known from the Codex so far, they made use of._

_The middle-aged man closed his eyes and reminisced mournfully. Bill** was back in his thoughts again, the same look of worry and anxiety lining his friend's hard face as he looked at a framed photograph he held in his hand. Said photograph had the image of a young boy, almost identical if Bill were his age, sporting a small grin to the camera that had taken the photograph. Who would have thought that same boy's sacrificial death in adulthood would have caused so much pain not only for the Miles family, but for all those who saw hope for the Brotherhood through that young man?_

_Gavin forced himself to open his eyes once more, and more images of all his comrades, fallen or torn inside by the struggle, flooded his mind. Frustrated, he leaned his elbows on the desk and rested his tired face in his hands. Bill, the entire organization's de facto leader after The Mentor was bitterly assassinated by Daniel Cross, was hit too hard with regret and futility to concentrate fully on the current assignments given. But he decided that at one instant, he didn't give a shit about that anymore, and so he left leadership to Gavin with a letter concerning his departure. The letter was still in a file organizer stored in a drawer of his desk. He could sadly remember the words the devastated father had written to him:_

"I'm leaving, Gavin. This war has gone for long enough and I've had it. Desmond is dead. My life is shit. Use the Codex if needed, but I leave everything to you now."

I'm so sorry, Bill. If only we could've found a way, maybe none of this needed to happen..., _the man thought grimly, as though his friend was as good as dead._

_It was like the Osaka disaster all over again, when a Chinese mole for the Templars went and killed Kenichi Mochizuki, his mentor and friend. And now Bill was gone and isolated in self-imposed exile. It was up to Gavin to lead the remaining sectors of the organization, racing against time and the lack of influence to keep up the fight and hold together the worn out bonds of the surviving sectors. And if the previous mission of unearthing the Precursor site last December had torn at Bill, what more of himself as he attempted to regroup everyone?_

_Currently, the ship was sailing northwest of the Pacific en route toward the nearby Arctic Circle to escort the last surviving member of the Russian Brotherhood, a woman by the name Galina Voronina. Back at the Russian research facility months prior, the Assassins had suffered underfunding by the government-most likely due to Abstergo's threats-and everyone had become a test subject. Everyone. The overuse of their Animi had caused severe cases of the Bleeding Effect; if they didn't die from starvation and infections, then they were euthanized..._

_That was _exactly_ what Galina had forced herself to do to her own mother._

_Gavin frowned and slammed his hands harshly on the desk before pushing himself up, balancing carefully as the ship and its contents moved about. Grunting, he opened a drawer, grabbed the codex and stuffed it in before closing the things. Then, at the call of the captain's urgent instructions to his crew, he opened the door to his cabin and went out, yanking it shut behind him. Maybe the salty spray of the storm could rouse him from his worries... Shove reality back at his face._

* * *

><p><span><strong>Mutual Pardon<strong>

How long they had been in that sitting position, Desmond couldn't care less. At that moment, there were no mentions of Assassins or Templars. No further discussion about centuries worth of that backstage war. No more hurt exclamations of lost time. They just sat there, the energy of their souls informing that yes, they were there.

Some moments ago, Lucy had gently leaned her head on his arm, the Realm telling him that. And he knew there was still so much to discuss. Oh, he knew. But right now, he didn't pay heed to the questions bubbling in his mind. Because had it not led to any of it—the Doomsday deadline, Lucy's betrayal, Juno's manipulations—when they were alive, then maybe the two of them would have ended up in this position likewise.

Compared to all that had happened, he would have preferred that.

A conflicted sigh rose him from his comprehensions. Looking down at his arm, Lucy lifted her head out of his reach and she scooted away from him, her hand retreating back to support her as she leaned back slightly. The look she gave Desmond was...saddened? Relieved? Piteous? He couldn't say, but suddenly he wanted to go over and reassure her of something, which was exactly what his body had tried to do as he realized that he was already reaching out to Lucy. But the woman shook her head and gently pushed his hand away. She gave him a smile that tore at him.

"Everything alright, Luce?" he asked with concern. But it felt as though concerned him more than it did her.

As an answer, the blonde woman turned her head to face their "surroundings." It took Desmond the same turn of view to realize that they were back in the Lounge Room, the bright yellow tints and the chattering of other 'travellers' and 'guides' slowly becoming imminent again. After a few seconds, she turned back to him and said cheerfully, "Everything is more than alright, Des. I let you know more about myself, helping you understand your own shortcomings... And your own worth as well." Her smile was less confusing, the aura confirmed by her next words: "I'm...satisfied. Slightly _happier_, even."

Oh, right. Because she was one of those guides of his. He gave off a fond snicker at that. "Well, if you're happier, then that means you really wanted to see me." He paused, his own words sinking in deeper before he shook off the thought and continued. "Anywho, I'm glad I got to talk to you again. I just really wanted to clear things up. Doomsday didn't give me enough time to really get over everything."

He took in the view again and saw that the boxes they were sitting on were now two ottomans once more, and the table had appeared in front of them again. His eyes went back to Lucy, who leaned forward on the table as she looked back to him. As she spoke, her voice sounded matter-of-factly. "That's the beauty of this place: you can catch up with old friends you thought you would never see again. I'm speaking for the both of us."

That last bit she said made Desmond think... No. Or maybe she does... Out of the blue, a strange feeling of something passing came to him. Like he...Like he had to go.

"No... No, there's still so much I have to ask you. To...Tell you, and—Aw, shit," The man spurted out, his slur murmured as he felt the familiar glow of a portal or beam near him. It called out to him, asking him to stand up, which he did, and came to it like a mom to a toddler in a playground.

He refused to look at whatever mode of 'transcending' it may be and looked earnestly at Lucy. "I want to stay here. Just for a bit longer." Desmond thought he sounded like a beggar, but he didn't care. All he cared for was that Lucy Stillman, all angst and confusion banished, was once again facing him.

Then, for some reason, she clicked her tongue a few times as she leaned her head in one of her hands and chided, "Really, Desmond? I just heard from you minutes ago that this Realm could let you visit Altaïr ibn-L'Ahd and Ezio Auditore again. Don't you get it?" Her next words were between spurs. "It means this won't be the last 'session' you'll have with me. _Ever_."

The last word had such weight in it, that Desmond paused to think. Sessions with Lucy for an eternity, with no Animus fumbling with his brain? That sounded great!

Now he felt really stupid for forgetting his own words on that, but he still didn't want to leave. He tried to relax himself, looking at Lucy as though it were a finality rather than a "see you later" that he was going for. "Alright. I guess I have to finish this shinbag I started on. But..." His voice trailed off, unsure of the rest he wanted to say.

Lucy eyed him tentatively. "But _what_, Desmond?" She pressured positively before adding, "Come on, man! This is the 'afterlife' and all. Spit it out!"

Well, that was encouraging. With the feel of the portal near him, Desmond finally spoke of what was on his mind. "Back in Italy, when were at the Auditore Villa, Erudito—well, at least I think it was them—sent me the password to your e-mail,**** and..." He paused, feeling ashamed for having hacked into her account, but he got to the point. "You said in one message to my dad about 'for whatever feelings you may or may not have' had for me. What... What did you _really_ mean by that?"

He hadn't told _anyone_ about this, not even Clay's A.I. back in Animus Island. But now that Lucy was here, sending him off, it was now or never to find out.

Lucy sat still, staring him in the face for several moments before making a move as she stood up from her ottoman, her full height close to Desmond's. After a long pause, she finally smiled, so warmly that he could have sworn the other souls in this place felt it as well, and shocked him as she wrapped her arms around his torso. He went wide eyed at this, quick to put his hands on her elbows out of astonishment. That aura he kept feeling was even more intense now!

All his attention went to Lucy as the Lounge Room began to fade away from his awareness as she finally spoke her answer. "Well, I'm going to give you a clue on that." Everything was a blur, the warm aura of the energy beam once again taking him whole and off to the next guide. But he did remember Lucy raising her face to him and... The energy was coming from her, bouncing off the woman to him because... He felt it on her lips.

Lucy Stillman had just kissed him to the next realm.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Interlude<strong>_

_He kept staring at it, debating on whether or not he should plug it in... If his downhearted mindset would even let him, that is._

_After several months of his self-imposed exile, William Miles was still devastated by the sacrifice Desmond made for them all; How his only son in the world was given up to prevent a solar flare from incinerating the world, but at the cost of freeing a dictatorial manifestation from the past...and his son's life_

_But now, in the flash drive that Rebecca and Shaun had risked their lives to send him, were the last bits of essence that Desmond Miles had left to this world before that fateful day._

_Desmond... Oh, how he wished it were him instead. Why Desmond? Why his son? Why, just when they were reconciling again? He knew why. A time would come when he would finally accept why, though now was not that time._

_His memories of that day kept flooding back, but for the moment, he pushed them away, then opened the flash drive and went over to his laptop._

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Meadow<span>**

Lucy had kissed him.

Lucy Stillman had _fucking kissed him!_

Wherever he was then, he almost didn't notice. His body merely registered to him that he was lying on his back on some bushy floor. With his eyes closed, the sheer thought of that kiss was scrambling every bit of his mind as the warm feeling was still present in him. He'd had his own share of old girlfriends and kisses and such, but that one was...

It was like being reborn... _Through a kiss!_

He wanted to go back. Like hell, he did! He wanted so much to finish this journey of his quickly so he could go back and do some more 'catching up' with Lucy. His entire being tingled like a school bell announcing the day over.

_"Hello...Desmond?"_

He was so caught up with his blissful thoughts that it took him a moment to notice the young voice calling to him.

_"Desmond...Can you hear me, Desmond?"_

_Yeah, I can hear you_. He chided inwardly. _You're not Lucy, though._

_"Of course I'm not her. Come now, open your eyes."_

_How the...!_

Whomever that voiced belong to knew of his thoughts. That realization spurred his mind into action, causing him to tear his eyes open and jerk upright to a sitting position. Forgetting Lucy for the time being, Desmond turned his head this way and that until his gaze landed on a person.

To his right was a young boy, dark in complexion, hair in disarray and attire completely made from what he felt sure of was buckskin. The child was kneeling next to him, giving him an innocently curious glance. This boy... Where had his seen him...

"Tag! You're it!"

Another child's voice he heard, and then something like a tiny finger poked his folded hoodie sleeves until he heard mischievous laughter all around. He turned away from the boy to be welcomed by the sight of at least three dozen children grinning at him before turning about to run away, the first boy still lingering with him.

As the other children ran about, he saw that they were all entirely different; some wore school uniforms, others PJs, and still others wore outdated or even the most trendy clothes of his time. And yet he knew of their playfulness as if it was the basic truth.

The ground he was previously lying on was grassy, the entire part of the realm filled with flourishing trees, grass and bushes. Blue skies hung above, bright and lush as spring allowed it, considering this place had seasons.

And children... As far as his vision allowed him to see!

"Looks like you are 'it', then."

Turning to see that his new "host" had already stood back up, he followed suit. It was only then, after backing away slightly and beholding the child, that he recognized him; buckskin clothing, freckled cheeks and nose, and a lone beaded braid to the left side of his face. 'The Fourth'—his Fourth, Desmond knew—was a very young Ratonhnakè:ton.

"C-Connor?" He leaned in closer, looking down at the child before him, who was now tilting his head at him as though it was he who wanted to ask questions. "You...It's, ummm...Hi?"

He had already guessed that this ancestor of his was one of the guides, but to meet him in such a state..._ Okay,_ he thought. _This Realm is really screwing with my logic._

The boy straightened his head and smiled up at him. "Greetings to you too, Desmond! Now, before we start, please kneel down for a bit." Ratonhnakè:ton-or Connor, he decided he'd use-made a facedown motion with both of his hands.

Still confused, Desmond complied and got down on his knees, knowing by some sort of instinct to arch his back slightly. He looked back up to his ancestor—damn, it felt so _weird_ to call a kid that—and said, "So, you're my Fourth. You were the most recent ancestor whose life I had to relive..." He stopped and realized that the life he did experience from Connor was full of so much pain and hardship, a far cry from the merry little grass field they were in at that moment.

But young Connor didn't pay attention to his words and, to Desmond's surprise, he got on the man's back and held his skinny arms around his neck. On instinct, Desmond rose up, not even feeling the boy's weight on his back, but the aura a living beacon as the other swung his legs slightly in anticipation. He craned his neck to look back at the boy's soft Native American features.

"We will discuss my message to you in a short while." Despite the degeneration, Connor still had that calm and mature tone on him as he continued. "For the moment, help me tag everyone playing."

"Wait, tag? Like, _playing_ tag? Me and you?" Desmond couldn't believe his ears; his ancestor, once a warrior of a man, was asking him to play tag with more than thirty-eight kids, if he counted them correctly. And whilst on his own back!

But in reply, the boy only gave him a playful grin and a buck of his legs as he said, "You are in the realm of the young and young at heart, Desmond. A place where one can experience once more the joys of a childhood forgotten or lost." The tone of his voice became rather solemn all of a sudden.

That statement got Desmond thinking. Lost and forgotten childhoods... He could actually relate to that. With a sigh, he faced the meadow once more, many of the participating children having already gone a good distance from them. Desmond asked skeptically, "Alright, we'll play, but how am I supposed to catch all these kids?"

He was already running through the fields, spying his first 'prey' behind some bushes when Connor giggled and said, "The realm will tell you, but they'll know too. That's the _fun_ part!"

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's notes:<span>**** *Port** is the maritime term for "left" based on the fact that most sailors dock their ships with the dock facing the left side of the vessel. (Believe it or not, I found out about this from watching Mr. Bean: The Animated series. /Snort)

****Bill** is every modern Assassin ally's nickname for William Miles. (How "William" became "Bill" for the Americans, I have yet to figure out...) But some of you probably already know that...

***These weren't the EXACT words William Miles wrote to Gavin with, but I think you all got the picture of how much Desmond's death messed his father up.

****This happened in AC:Brotherhood, FYI.

ASDFGHJKL OMG BBQ SEE I TOLD YOU THIS SHIT WAS GONNA GET CORNY! *flops on her bed with non-stop spazzing* For all ye shippers out there, like me, who REALLY WANTED to get those two dorks together and hated Ubisoft for that goddamn plot twist.

(Also, MAN. That part of this chapter could've been its OWN chapter! I hope I'm not straining your eyes with the length of this one...)

And so, Desmond meets his Fourth. (Kind of obvious, this one. And ob yeah, it's actually TWO corny things here.) This kiddie!Connor thing isn't just for cuteness, okay? There's a wide array of serious talk, and it's coming from, what I remember, a four year old-looking man's mouth.

Yep.

About, what, two or tree more plus an epilogue chapter and I can be done with this bad boy! XD

So, up to the next chapter, but before that, go and check out the prologue of my upcoming new Edward Kenway fic, **"Saved By The Devil",** folks! A little teaser for all of you, plus an upcoming one shot just to test out this new drama and action thing I want for it.

**_Next update: Gimme two weeks. Alot's been going on here with my family, especially with my grandparents visiting from San Diego, California. (Land of Comic Con, peeps!)_**

Comments, suggestions, and little RP spoofs well accepted. For the meantime, until the next, folks!

~Itchy


	8. Struggle Strengthens Us

**Notice:** Danggit. I thought for SURE then that I was going to ACTUALLY make it to my "two week" deadline. And sorry. No Beta for now. I'll have it Beta'd later, though.

Until my folks had our gadgets reformatted to clear up the wi-fi receptions. Had a quarter of the original update on my Acer, too…I got so disheartened by that, especially since I've had a ruse with my family. And recently, my doctors have FINALLY started in keeping me updated with my surgery schedule. I really hope it's all been set up before Octorber starts. I need at least a month's recovery period before I can go and start my college's 2nd semester.

Also, I really don't know how it is you people tolerate me and my inactiveness , but again, I apologize for the delay on this one. About a month now, even, since the last update. But I SWEAR. I will make this up before my surgery. Give a random treat to you guys after I update this bad boy.

Well, now I'm back on the keys and documents and here it is! A chapter closer to the end of Desmond's spiritual 'journey'.

Like, maybe two more chapters after this one. Not sure if the epilogue (Yes, there's gonna be one. Cheers!) will fit in one, making that three, possibly. Let's also hope I get to wrap this up by October, too.

Okay. Enough of that. Let's get this chapter going.

_Read on!_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Meeting The Fourth<strong>

From what he knew, he was dead. His 'soul' was in some kind of energy-induced realm that was neither Heaven nor Hell, but after running around the vast meadow, chasing and tagging almost all the 'children'—Dear Lord, how many of them were 'children' when they got here? Desmond regretted the thought along tagging two kids dressed in what he knew were 90s skater wear near some bushes and tried to forget such a notorious reality.—while his age-deprived ancestor was getting a ride on his back.

"Okay…phew!", He exclaimed, still running, but getting tired. "Alright, man. After this, we'll go to this 'message' you mentioned earlier…Right?" Desmond waited for an answer, but for a long while in his sprint, the answer he got was not what he had anticipated.

"Over there, Desmond." The young Connor whispered to him gleefully, lightly shaking the man's shoulder without answering anything. Seeing a tanned arm aimed to point towards a small stream near some boulders from the corner of his eye, Desmond hurriedly trudged over to the area, slightly breathless.

Breathless? Strange. He hadn't felt any such phenomenon before while he was there. Was it just him, or has he been feeling rather…mortal, for lack of a better word for his tired feeling and the need to breathe, even when he had confirming passed away?

Another noticeable thing he had perceived was his right arm. Whilst feeling the brush of Connor's moccasins swinging about, there was an irate tingling. That arm was the one he had used to touch the pedestal that had freed Juno, but had sucked out his life force and ending him in the process.

He was suddenly shaky, but not by his own feebleness. The brash movements were caused by his young 'guide', swinging his legs with greater force and making him sway and fight for balance. "Hey! Why did you stop? They're right there, Desmond!", the Kanien'keha:ka 'child' whined mockingly at him. (With no grammatical restrictions, he noted.) "Tag them carefully."

"Wait..stop! Quit it!" He protested back to his ancestor, who indeed still enough for him to stand firmly again. He grunted some more before getting a grip on himself once more. "Alright, I'm moving! Sorry. I was just…", His apology was drifting to incompletion as he assessed the moment.

It had seemed that the mere thought had caused him to stare out into scene and stop before he got close to the boulders, where he now could easily see his young 'targets' in what he remembered were Georgian attire. Three of them, by the looks of it. No Eagle Vision of any sort needed as the heads were peeking out of their hiding places with giggles and snorts. And eyes bright with joy and bliss, he noted.

Desmond doubt he could remember a carefree day in his childhood since his training had began. And moreover, his angsty teenage years lacking a decent family life had pushed him to run away from 'The Farm' in the first place. After that, it all bothersome lead to his return to the people he had originally ran from. No, he was never going to be able to recount any…fond childhood moments.

"You are wrong, Desmond. Truly."

A surprised noise came out as Desmond caught the other's sudden statement. Confused, he turned his head slightly to look back at the boy, but the boy merely gave him a look that dismissed the moment as his eyes moved to indicate the rocks again. Turning himself, he faced the rocks after shaking off the moment to maneuver a 'sneak attack' on the children. He had been playing this 'game' for awhile now, he probably knew where to look and step around before the children would figure out that he was behind them already, arms ready to pat them and warmly say 'Tag'.

But those last three by the rocks. Those were sneaky enough to dodge his tagging. Hell, they were the last kids left that haven't been running away from him in giggle fits. They were probably the reigning champs at this thing!

"Okay. Now…Move around the rocks." Connor softly instructed him. He nodded, lips pursed tight as he shifted with an arched back and light feet around the boulders and foliage, slowly making head and toes of the three hoodlums, who were grinning with anticipation. There eyes were staring at each other and most likely weren't able to see or hear him.

He sidestepped behind a tree, then curved around it. An arm or two away from them, but how to tag them all before they could run…

"Do you require some assistance?" The soft whisper of his Native ancestor asked teasingly. He wasn't facing him, but Desmond could sense the mirth-filled eyes that were staring at him.

Wait. That's right! He was only supposed to _help_ Connor tag the children. And he was left to tag most of the children by himself! Hmph. His ancestor _was_ a sneaky kid after all, then. He should've known, having _relived_ his life.

With a barely audible sigh at his own lack of attention, Desmond knelt on the ground until he was low enough for the young boy to climb down discreetly. Now, the other was sitting on the balls of his feet, placing a finger to his lips then pointing two of them at the children. Two Caucasians, one African.

Desmond knew what those meant: _I'll take out one, you take out the other two._ Old guerilla tactics in a children's game.

Huh.

"Ready. " His only reply. The American rose himself to a crouching position, ready to pounce. Connor nodded did a similar stance, the expression of a zealous hunter as he wordlessly counted. "On the count of three…" And rose the first finger.

_One_…

"Come on, old chaps! What's taking you pansies so long?" One of the children said, English accent crisp.

"Oh, shh! You'll probably provoke them." The other, another Brit, more formally for a child.

_Two_…

"I can feel the, close, you two. But why haven't they appeared?" The dark-skinned one, a Colonial palette in his tone.

And…_Three!_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Interlude<em>**

_I felt so…dizzy._

_It took several seconds to realize that I was unplugged from my Animus. My vision had switched from reliving what Edward Kenway saw and now dwindled hazily to my current bunker. Moreover, my session was interrupted. But why now?_

_"Wakey wakey...", I heard a rasp whisper call to me._

_Did the Abstergo staff finally found my snooping about, hacking and transferring files for a techie, a courier and a coffee vendor on the first floor? Did they get caught, too?_

_My head was swimming again as a minor cluster hammered at my temple while thinking that up. But as I tried to raise a hand to massage it, I found that I couldn't. Then I realized that I was strapped down to my own chair. A panic was bubbling up inside as I attempted some for to release myself but to no avail. Then, as my vision cleared up completely, I saw someone stare back at me._

_"I don't think we've been formally introduced. Well,..." a snicker that gave what little conciousness I had a chill to the bones. "Not in this lifetime, any way..."_

_It wasn't an Abstergo security guard nor Melanie, which I was partially glad for, but I was terrified and confused more that it was John. The uniform gave it away, but his full face seen for the first time._

_He…he looked exactly like that Sage guy...Roberts, I remembered... I saw in Edward's memories. From the facial hair to the hard nose to the two-colored eyes. Even the goddamn facial hair was the same. _

_And he was holding up a syringe to my face.._

Oh shit shit shit shit…!

* * *

><p><span><strong>Persistence Is A Virtue<strong>

"_YAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!_", simultaneously, both he and Connor roared out a war cry and sprinted towards the children, their pouncing a keen to that of cougars.

The three children made surprised squeals but before they could completely move away, Desmond swiftly made for either of the first two's shoulders and held them tight, turning them about so when he fell exclaiming "Tag!", they went down with him in fits of laughter.

He was breathless, the unearthly adrenaline getting some chuckles out of him as he turned his head to look at the kids in his arms. They were both holding onto his arms, not even bothering to escape as the formal-speaking child announcing between spurts, "Okay, okay! You caught us, Miles! Now, release us!"

Another round of merriment could be heard a few feet from them and he looked over to his ancestor and the last child. As he stood with both children in his grasp, Desmond witnessed the other two children rolling about in the dirt, wrestling for some whimsical dominance. But their own giggle fits could be made out, evidence that this truly was just for fun.

Eventually, the rumbling died down and they were all lying flat on their backs, the last rounds of laughter emitted as they all stared at the eternally blue sky. Desmond thought it peculiar that the brightness wasn't exactly burning his eyes out, but that was expected by now. As the laughter died down, each of them made to sit up, Connor going to cross his legs under him and the other children doing similar sitting positions. He summed them up one by one, but agreed with himself that his 'playmates' were all enjoying themselves in this realm.

In fact, he hadn't had this much fun since…he had played around with the other "Farm" kids, pretending to be master Assassins…

"See? Didn't I tell you that you were wrong?" The Native child bantered through small bursts of chuckles. This caught Desmond off guard, thinking back now to a similar thing the boy said earlier.

Still seated, Desmond leaned forward to ask the boy inquisitively, "Well, you said that earlier. I suppose you're going to tell me about that now?" Queasy was hinted in it. Connor being his 'Fourth' may mean he was close to finishing his journey. But of what awaits him at the end, he wasn't so ensured with. He added, "What exactly was I wrong about? I know, I've been wrong about alot of things. And I meaaaaan 'alot', so what am I wrong about this time?"

Suddenly, tutting could be heard all around as the other children shook their heads half-heartedly or snickered at him. His ancestor made for small tug of the lips before raising his hand, —all chief-like, wow— to silence the others before speaking, profoundly mellow. "I did mean it when I said this realm would relive lost or forgotten childhoods. Didn't you have the light feeling of carefree and remembrance while we were playing?"

He had to pause to that. Yes, all the kid spoke of was true. He did feel that. And he did remember. To think, he actually did have some fond childhood memories in him. Still, what did all of it have to do with this journey of his?

Nodding, he answered bluntly, "All those things are true, but…Look. I appreciate this, um, 'playtime' of ours, really. But, Connor—"

"Yes?", the dark-skinned kid mused loudly and leaned towards him. Confused, Desmond was about to clarify himself when he squinted at the boy.

Those features. That shirt and collar. He…he saw those before. But where…

As if saving him the speculation, his ancestor spoke, "Desmond, allow me to introduce to you my mentor's son," a copper hand motioned to the now-waving playmate, "Connor Davenport."

_Davenport? As in… Achilles' dead son?_

_Wait. You're all dead, stupid_. He scolded to himself. But the shock on his face didn't indicate it as he compared the 'other Connor' to the painting he—as Connor…No, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Oh, to hell with it.—had hung on the Manor's wall and to the small grave at the backyard, facing the lake. And slightly guilty over decimating the boy's grave. _Twice._

Before he could reply or apologize though, the real 'Connor' shuffled over to him, put a small hand on his forearm before looking up to him, saying, "Graves and dead bodies are nothing to the memories given by the souls. It's alright, Desmond." He then lowered his hand down and smiled at him. And he spoke of it so wisely, like he didn't die of hay fever at age ten or eight!

Although the guilty feeling didn't subside, he tried hard to stammer out something. "I'm still sorry. We..I, well, your memory was so..", Desmond sigh, irritated by his pathetic attempt to reciprocate and went on with something else. "Just for the record, are those two..", he titled his head towards the other Georgian-clothed children. One of them was giving him that "Oh, look! He finally figured it out!" look Shaun sometimes gave him.

But Connor—Ratonhnhaké:ton, he corrected himself again—interrupted his musings, saying in a finality tone, "Yes, Desmond. They too are from my past, the past you relived with so many things left unanswered."

There was a pause then, but Ratonhnhaké:ton continued, "But not for long. I believe now is the time that I share my own tidings with you." Without another word, the child stood up and walked over to Desmond before stopping to sit right in front of him, looking up with the dutiful eyes.

To this, Desmond himself straightened up, looking back down with attentiveness. "Finally. So, what are you going to talk to me about?" He dare not ask more. Whatever dry humor he had at this point had shriveled up as he awaited a reply.

Some kind of heavy feeling surrounded him now, the world of souls quiet, but more tranquilized than eerie. As he looked down, his ancestor lifted a hand to his shoulder, his own eyes drifting to the conjunction hearing the child speak.

"For far too often, you have been brought down not only by other people, but by your own self-doubt. Even right now, you find uncertainty of what you did before coming here." A slight squeeze from the hand on his shoulder before the rest followed, "And still, you forged on. You wanted to see more. Went to do things, even after the past year's disasters and more so despite all the inevitability of things."

As he took in everything said to him, Desmond felt the hand slide away and recoil back to its owner, who had spoke again, but with eyes narrowed and a gait of conviction.

And to think the man behind this boy he was facing went through so much. And before his twenty-fifth birthday, too! "Still, how could you have gone through all that unshattered?, be asked the boy, indirectly speaking of all the lost and betrayal during the boy's life. "People with more years than you would've given up after all you've been through, but here you are, Connor. How, then?"

Albiet his own death, he had hoped to see the other's life after he buried the Key under the earth.

In reply, Ratonhnhaké:ton closed his eyes, as if repressing some negative emotion, then opened them again, looking at Desmond's hands and said, "I _was_ shattered, Desmond, And I will admit, I was naive. To think my actions alone would've made everything better for my tribe. For the country...and for myself." He then rose his gaze towards him, the hint of ancient sorrow so vivid in that young face. "It had taken me years after the British left to realize that I need to do more and expect less of my involvement and the Assassins' influence. Because to lose so much and gain so little was unacceptable for me. I needed to change my course, so I did."

His ancestor then added, the sorrow gone and replaced with a fire that nearly shook Desmond's core as he spoke. "But I dare you to not—never—forget any regrets, not even now. Rather, you must use them to keep going forward. You've done so before, so I advice you to keep at it, Desmond Miles."

Keep it up? How? He was _dead_! What else was there in that almost perfect realm to strive for? Trying to tone down his retort, the man replied with self-scrutiny, "I'm afraid I didn't really get that, man. Not that I've forgotten what iw was like to, you know, 'keep it up', but...what am I suppose to keep up by remembering all that camaraderie?" If there had been a sour pitch in the last word, he didn't really care for.

This was, after all, his Fourth 'session'. So close to the last. But if before, he had wanted to rush it to either avoid reminiscing on his past life or to go back and be with Lucy, well, now he would've preferred to know what all this preparation was for. And strangely enough, the tingling in his right forearm was slowly escalating to a throb. And not a pleasant one, at that. Was it signalling to the final stop?

"If you were wondering, Desmond, then _yes._" One of the other kids drawled out, almost smug but not so much. "Your arm will actually tell you how close 'the end' of this journey is."

Desmond had almost forgotten about the other children. He took a moment to get the shock out and turned his head towards the more classily-dressed boy. He was sitting with his legs pushed up to his chest, but also crossed by the ankles. And the kid gave him a slightly haughty look.

"He is right, you know." Ratonhnhaké:ton said agreeing and earned Desmond's inquisitive stare once more. "You will understand what that throbbing will reveal after this. It will take you to him. And he will take you to The Fifth and final guide." Almost comfortingly, he lightly grabbed the specified arm, but it neither caused more or less of the sensation. And with a content look, the boy continued where he left off. "What I'm telling you is to be strong. Be insistent on yourself. And, if whatever you will experience later will cause you disarray, to _compromise_."

And, with a rare but mischievous glint, he half-smiled.

It wasn't a smirk, no. Not like the Ezio smirk. Not very smug, like Altair. But it was enough encouragement, even though he still wanted to know what it was all for. And although it wasn't the closest to a specifically cleared-up talk, Desmond felt the familiar self-assurance he had upon hearing that. It was like when any of his ancestors had made a decision so much in their favor that he himself would've tingled with confidence. Nodding, he confirmed his understanding by saying, "I will. I still don't know what it'll be about, but the feeling in my, well, soul...you know...I can feel it in me to remember and do that. Thank you."

Now...before he would continue...

Gaze again back at the other British child, but with a more curt spin of the head, Desmond made a hard line with his mouth before drawling out, "Okay. So we got the two Connors and two kids I don't remember at hte moment from 'my past'. Now..." Squinting his eyes at the boy's feature, he asked, "Who are you exactly?"

As if not even surprised by the accusing question, the two British boys turned to each other, as if on queue, before the one he spoke to turned back to him and, well, not he was getting annoyed by that answered back quite smoothly, "Oh, yes. You remember the Mohawk lad whom you played hide-and-seek as, but not me. Well, here's an enlighting cue, Desmond."

Oh, great. More clues. He hoped it wasn't a kiss.

But as he looked on, the boy was changing, like everyone in this realm was doing. The cropped hair that was neatly kept in place now grew longer. And as it grew, it became a ponytail, kept together by a red ribbon-_

"You have GOT to be kidding me...", was all he could say when it _clicked_.

When the transformation ended, he flipped his hair outwardly and rose up, very elegant with poise, and made a not-so-mocking bow and announced, "First off, I would like to remind and introduced you to Jimmy Holden, over here," His hands motioned for the other boy, who was waving cheekily at him, before adding, "and, of course, Yours Truly."

No way. That stature. The vocabulary. The goddamn same English flattery and the red ribbon and steel eyes that taunted him as he started some more. The boy hadn't truly confirmed it yet, but a stifled laugh behind him was enough of a hint.

He turned to find Connor Daveport as he held onto his spurts and Ratonhnhaké:ton shaking his head sarcastically as he chided, "A real show stopper, are you not, Haytham."

And when he looked back, the urge to face palm so evident, Haytham Kenway, in a ten-year-old's body, tipped off a tricorn hat that appeared out of the blue.

Midnight blue, even.

"Oh, har har har..."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's note:<strong> And if you were wondering, yes. I HAD to include Haytham and Holden here. And this being an afterlife, that would mean he would just toss formality aside and be such a classy motherfucking troll. YEP.

I have this headcanon where the Research Analyst in AC IV was actually a woman. I mean, if John/The Sage wanted to put Juno's A.I. into that person's head, you know...But, of course, I ain't gonna go and hint to that in this fanfic because I try to keep as neutral and to the canon as possible. Also, very short Interlude segment. Sorry about that.

And little bit of hinting: Instead of "Patience Is A Virtue", I used "Persistence" instead. Because Connor/Ratonhnhaké:ton said repeatedly in the gameplay that he wasn't a patient man. /AAAAND SHOT DOWN

A slight apology, again This seems more like a filler chapter than one with the main deal of each 'Guide'. And I am very pleased and abit challenged to hear that "the Guides" weren't EXACTLY what you people were expecting them to be. And for those who found Daniel Cross' inclusion in the last few chapters, well...the next chapter will be a _reaaaal_ treat. :D

Next update will hopefully be not too late in October. Seriously, I have a recovery period and a bunch of Halloween jazz to draw and maybe write about before October 31. Like, ugh..

To you lovely readers, thank you again for keeping up with this fanfic! Really! You guys are amazing, every fave, follow, and review appreciated! QeQ)/

_~Itchy_


	9. Pleasantly Unexpected Rendevouz

**Notice:**_ Beta-read by the stupendous swegm!_

In this chapter, I'm going to make it quick but indirect towards the next "Guide" because I'll need most of this chapter just to introduce them. And another "Easter Egg" character. (Yep. That's what I'm calling the non-Guide characters now.) So close, guys!

Also, I had hoped to update this quickly. Nope. My folks went back to rearrange my surgery sched and for all I know, I could be heading to the hospital within this week as I write this. That, and surprisingly a good amount of things happened while I wasn't writing. (Like me becoming Tumblr famous, even for a less than 200 notes, BUT STILL. So, regardless of it only being a week's stay, the last chapter after this will be late purposely.

By the way, if you'll be taken aback by what'll happen, then good! So will Desmond, so it'll all part of this experience. OrO

Read on~!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Interlude<strong>_

_Melanie just bid me a good day after I woke up from what I almost thought was a terrible nightmare, though it might well have been that. She apologized for all I had to go through and congratulated me that, in spite of it all, I was able to give them amazing footage from my Animus._

_And now, here I am, out of that bunker of mine and being sent back to my cubicle, like nothing had ever happened._

_But I just can't believe all that happened to me._

_First, I got accepted into one of the highest-paying research analyst gigs on the continent. Then, I got to relive this unbelievably unexpected adventure as Edward James Kenway, one of Sample 17's ancestors, who had the most interesting but difficult life in all the Seven Seas. Damn Animus, putting all this seaman lingo into my head... Oh, did I forget to mention that the "generous donation" Melanie mentioned included Desmond Miles' entire body? And, perhaps because this job was too good to be true, I get dragged into a conspiracy that was bigger than this whole company!_

_Uncovering all the dirt about Abstergo's research, including the man who pioneered the Animus, then discovering Templars and Assassins and Sages and Precursor races... And all of this is still going on. In fact, the man who was coaxing me to do hacking was, in fact, the Sage himself. Some kind of... incarnation of him. And he almost killed me. But now, he's gone. They say he was nowhere to be found, but I have a gut feeling that Abstergo's got plans for John Standish._

_No wonder the pay was so admirable... This place is nuts._

_As I walk back to my cubicle, I can hear people muttering things; some welcoming me back, some wanting to quit due to the restrictions, and others just expressing their relief that the hack issue was pinned on John Standish and done with. But I myself am not faltered._

_There's something going on with this project—no-something to do with this company. I saw the trailers for 'Pirates Of Nightmares' while I was poking around servers. Jokes, all of them. Not like all the work our crew had gathered. Or maybe that's Kenway talking in me. Makes me wonder what else would be edited—or what had been—in these games._

_My communicator's acting up. I look at it and receive a call. The voices of the courier lady and the coffee dandy come up. More hacking? Hmm. I'm already far gone. Besides, I'd like to see where "the good guys" would really take me with all this. With my Level 3 security check, there's still more work to be done..._

* * *

><p><span><strong>On His Way To...<strong>

This Realm was seriously messing with him. Who would have thought he would meet not one, but two of his ancestors at one place? Granted, the other one wasn't a Guide, but the account of the English boy in front of him who was murdered by his son of an opposing faction shouldn't be ignored.

Desmond felt the throbbing on his right arm gradually increase, but he clenched on the grass under him as he tried to concentrate on the children with him.

"'Lost and Forgotten', you say...?" he coaxed out of himself, looking to his ancestor while putting aside the throbbing. Two Connors, really? He then forced a weak smile at the native boy before adding, "This has really been an amazing journey so far, Connor. After everything I've been through in the living-or Material Realm, I don't know-it's well-appreciated that I get just stop and," he briefly paused before finding the right word, "reconsider what's happened. Everything that's happened. But-Hey, where are you all going?"

The American stopped his monologue as the other "children" with Connor had begun rising from where they sat on the grass and started off, but young Haytham looked back to them and shot, "Oh, posh. We're just going to give you two some time to wrap this all up. Besides..." The English boy waved a farewell at Connor Davenport and Jimmy Holden, who were both running ahead of him back to the fields. As he himself moved faster but to another direction, he spoke again to Desmond. "You're not the only one doing some 'catching up' here, young man!"

Strange. Haytham's voice had sounded... deeper as the words flowed in his ear. But as he blinked back at his diminishing figure, the English boy was gone. He was replaced by an older man, far older with graying and the same inner frock and vest from his Colonial wear, but the smile he wore was nothing he could recall in any Animus session. And out of nowhere, another man appeared next to Haytham. Blond mesh of hair and a formal attire that did not suit him, but he patted the Englishman as if he were the older and fonder. They made a quick glance at the remnant sitting on the grass and were gone.

Desmond was confused and curious, but he felt like he knew the man Haytham left with. He turned to Connor—finally, just one Connor left—and was about to inquire, but the boy raised a hand and shook his head. "You can ask them yourself when we are done. But, Desmond... Listen."

The boy rose up, about as high as Desmond's head while he was sitting, and put his small, copper hands on the man's shoulders. Whatever reason it may be, the gesture had calmed Desmond down. He felt absolutely... safe. And the bliss he felt from when he first came to the Realms was washing over him. Even the throbbing in his arm had lessened, though it lingered still.

"I saw you once before. In a vision."

"You... You did?" It wasn't the first time an ancestor had known about his future existence as their descendant, but to have it happen this frequently was enough to surprise the man. He looked tentatively into the big brown eyes of his ancestor, awaiting his answer.

Connor gave off a small tug of his lips and answered with a nod, "Yes, I have. The Apple..." Desmond almost flinched at the mention of the artifact, but the other continued on. "I never once thought then that I would ever even set sight on it, but the Piece of Eden, circumstantially, drew me into a manifestation of a world I'd rather not define to you, but it felt so real, my child." He looked down slightly, perhaps remembering whatever manipulation the Apple had on him, but Desmond dared not interrupt.

And continue, the Kanien'kehá:ka did. "It was a mere illusion, but as I went to have my original self together, one of the memories the Apple showed me... it was the Temple. And in it, you were there. "

A pang in his chest made the man feel constricted, the memory of holding that pedestal and the life being sucked out of him, causing his hands to hold onto Connor's arms, as if the short limbs were life support. He only wanted to push it away. Escape the memory and the pain, oh why was he feeling pain, WHY, WHY—

"Shhh, now. It is over." The agonizing urge to run away and let go and scream crept out of his mind when his ancestor's soft voice brought him back to his senses. He didn't even realize that the boy had lowered his arms from his shoulders and those small copper hands had taken hold of his right arm... Oh god, why did it look burnt?! Was that why he was feeling the pain again?

"The pedestal is gone, Desmond." Again, Connor shushed him, soothing a palm over the burn and somewhat lessening the memory of the pain.

For the first time since he had stepped foot into the meadow, Desmond felt fear. Not the nervous feeling of meeting dead people, but downright terror. But the boy continued to speak, something the man took as a way to grasp himself, and said, "As much as I hated what Juno had made me do-_made us do…_" He halted the statement and looked the man in the eyes. "I finally understood what all my struggling amounted to and that it amounted to you, Desmond. You and your choice."

"My choice..." Desmond spoke but left off as he glanced once more at his right arm, still charred in soot, then looked back to Connor and said, "I can't believe that space wizard spent thousands of years of planning and manipulation for all this."

"But regardless," Connor said. "You chose that path, even when it lead to such sacrifice." And more serious in tone, the boy added, "Choice is an important apparatus in life, and free will is so important, that even the First Civilization saw importance in even the least assuming of choices."

"And you made most decisive choice of all."

The man perked up. That adult voice... in this realm...

He froze in place, not because of suspicion, but because that voice... he knew of it. And his ears welcomed them like the safest haven of any place. Finally snapping out of it, Desmond turned his head to see if...

The man looking down at them both smiled, the scar on his lips bending slightly. Altaïr ibn-L'Ahad was here, dressed once more in his Mentor robes. He couldn't believe it... another ancestor _was with them!_

Desmond felt Connor let go of his arm and he turned to him with eyes of fascination and surprise, but the boy only curved his lips and, with a nod, got up. He then looked up to Altaïr, and Desmond took this time to stand himself up. He turned his attention to the older and asked, "How'd you get here, Altaïr?"

The other crossed his arms first, but his reply was still pompous. "The same way you came here, Desmond."

"You mean you kissed Lucy?" Even with the traumatized memory blast, the man had some sarcasm left in him.

"He didn't _kiss me_, Des. Really." And with a jerk of his head, the man's vision was welcomed by Lucy Stillman, who was dressed just like she was when Desmond left her at the last realm. With her hands on her hips, she added matter-of-factly, "We all came here through the energy between the realms."

Still shocked, Desmond was about to reply to her when he heard a heartfelt laugh. "And why was _I_ left out of this part, eh?" Another quick turn and Desmond faced Ezio Auditore da Firenze, still in his farmer's attire, but with that same signature smirk.

Now he was overwhelmed by all these familiar faces looking at him with such compassion, but he still wanted answers. And this time, having gone through too much, he was getting them.

"Please... can all of you just tell me where this journey of mine-and what kind of journey I'm taking-and what does it all get me with?" He cared little for his stammer because he had had it. If his journey was almost over, then he wanted to know _exactly_ what he got into.

All of his Guides looked at one another, nodding and humming and smiling benevolently, before Ezio went to first speak up. "Do you remember when you first came to Altaïr's library, Desmond? And when you were confused by how you lacked pain and felt only bliss?"

He had to think for a moment, but he nodded, having remembered both those things, and awaited another answer from his Guides.

Next, Lucy replied, "When you touched that pedestal, it not only drained you of your life energy, but it threatened to dismember your metaphysical consciousness."

Desmond's brows crunched together in confusion. "My-My what, now?"

"Your soul, Desmond." And it was Altaïr this time, going over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder before he continued. "The Grand Temple's massive intake of power nearly shredded you at your soul's core, child."

"But we all saved you, Desmond." Connor–Ratonhnhaké:ton, he thought finally– this time, went to his side and held his hand and looked up at him, saying, "We took hold of your energy so that when you passed that life, you would still be able to regain yourself."

Desmond turned to every one of them and hurriedly asked, "Was that why I was lacking negative feelings before? Or why I only felt pain upon being so close to the end of this journey?"

Ezio, strode over to him and put a hand in his other shoulder, having Desmond between him and Altaïr, and spoke again, "It's to make sure that when you get here, you will be able to find yourself once more. To build up you rmetaphysical self as you go through the five of us."

Right. There was still a Fifth Guide.

But Desmond had a few more questions to ask of them. Raising his blackened arm to them, he asked, "Then why is _this _still acting up? Is it because I'm not done yet?"

Unsurprisingly, they all nodded in response.

He sighed, more heavily than he had even been able to since he started this journey._ Journey..._ The word itself had been marked into him since he came to the Library. As if it were inevitable, the man recoiled his arm to stare at the blackened skin. Halfway through the journey, it had been aching gradually and now he had to suppress the memories of that day. The last thing he did before that was to tell Rebecca, Shaun, and his father to run away from the Temple.

At that, he couldn't help the sad smile and murmured, "Even before my expiration, I went and played the hero."

As he stared down further, another hand went to encase his fingers around the palm. He quickly looked up to find Lucy, so close that they were a mere foot apart.

She had her bright blue eyes on him, her look almost altruistic as she gently said, "You weren't playing the hero, Desmond. Or the pawn, and no, not even the accessory. You were only doing what was right, even at the cost of…" The woman left off, a gentle squeeze to his arm finishing her sentence for her.

That feeling of bliss from the first moment he came to this afterlife returned. His ancestors and the woman he wished he hadn't sacrificed were an ensuring presence around him. It was quiet in the Meadow, but this time, a pleasant moment of silence was felt. Just the five of them among greenery, wind, and sunshine. One word came to mind upon feeling it all.

_Eden_.

This place. This realm. This new journey. It was the biblical kind of Eden and not the Eden of the Precursor Race. When that thought came, his right hand clenched as his arm once more felt the throbbing. But this time, he was ready.

As if on cue, his Guides all let go of him, the looks on their faces another "see you later" to him. As a finality, the first Guide said in an instructing fashion, "If you still have your disk, then I'd advice you to bring it to the Fifth."

"My disk?" Desmond questioned while fishing out the plastic container. Right. Altaïr gave it to him right before he got sucked into that portal. For some kind of miracle, the disk felt important. He held it firmly before pocketing it once more.

And with that, the Second told him, "That throbbing of yours will only be gone when you finally find yourself, both metaphysically and existentially." The Auditore then chuckled and added, "Don't be so glum, brother. You'll be _better_ than fine when this is all done."

He said "done" and not "over." Somehow, he felt better hearing that.

The Third then put a hand to his cheek, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before saying in such a tender tone, "If you ever feel lost, only remember to find yourself upon reaching the Fifth."

Warm. So much warmth he felt after that. A tan hand went to caress the pale one as he replied, "I found _you_ again, didn't I? I just hope I won't get so out of it."

"You will not, Desmond. But you will feel all we have tried to shield from you." The Fourth went and tugged gently at his other arm and made nod at his direction before continuing, "The final bridge of your journey is yonder that way. But fear not."

And with one look up, the boy finalized, "You will be able to not only find yourself, but understanding and worth in all you have endured. And try to think of us, not for what you learned of us, but for what we helped to make you see your worth."

He was being sent off. Maybe... no. He was _ready_ for this. With the disk in his pocket, Desmond nodded. "Thank you... all of you." With his gratitude expressed, he pulled up his hood, feeling it right somehow to take up the mantle of the Brotherhood this time, and made one last look at all four of them, taking them in and painting their warm expressions at him before he turned and began walking.

With every step, he felt the aura of the four diminish one by one. He needed not turn around to find out, but he kept on, moving through the foliage and dirt road that was once so noisy with children but now so heavily quiet

Finally, the aura from his Guides was gone. And somewhat, he felt heavier as he stepped into the forest. Suddenly, doubt had crept within even a smidge, but a hand went to his pocket to feel the disk. The image he had of the four instilled in his mind vividly, and he used its significance to shield off any more of those doubts.

Further still he went, the trees and bushes thickening, but the sun—or whatever source of light was giving it off—seeping through the leaves and branches. His feet lead him to where his gut wanted to go. And even if he hadn't the slightest idea where he would go, Desmond knew which direction it was.

He had always known.

* * *

><p><strong>Interlude<strong>

_Another file from their research analyst friend. She had gotten it the other day when she and Shaun met up with them at the 'Maestro' coffee stand at the Lobby. To think that the Templars weren't so discreet with using brand names for their Abstergo front that hinted at their organization's ultimate goal. Huh._

_Two hours had passed since then. Rebecca made several detours through Montreal before coming to the "apartment" she and the team had propped up. It was difficult too, trying to find an ideal lot in the city that was far from any surveillance from Abstergo's counter-spying technology. As for what was there, she dealt with those quickly with rerun footage and just all-out evading their feed._

_But going over the downtown's alleys before entering their hideout, the woman could finally take a breather. Closing the door behind her and locking it, she went through the fairly lit hallway and moved loosely toward the end of the hall, another door with a blue-tinted light streaming under the slits of the door frame._

_She then stopped in front of the door, took out the communicator she had and checked out a specific folder. It was labeled "Subject 17." And with relief, it had a decent amount of files in it. The files themselves weren't too essential in their fight against Abstergo Industries, but they had Desmond in it; when he was arrested, when he escaped, what they had collected over that one year, and even his selfie pictures. There were audio files as well, but upon listening to the first few seconds, they realized it wasn't all for them. No. They knew who Desmond wanted to speak to through those audio files. His last memoirs before—_

_Rebecca shook herself before the memory could recreate the remorse of losing not only a fellow Assassin, but a selfless friend. Scolding herself, she was going to know on the door when the other end of the hinted the door opening and slamming shut. The slam caused her to turn around, but she calmed and even smiled upon seeing who came in_

_"You made it... How'd you shake off security?" As Shaun came up to her, he seemed breathless. He even had a few beads of sweat on his brow and clutched his satchel upon catching his breath._

_It wasn't a mystery that Shaun had already worked at Abstergo before, albeit under cover before he was recruited, but now they had to be sure nobody at the Montreal branch knew about him._

_A few more huffs before Shaun straightened himself up, wiping the sweat from his forehead and answering, "Right... Well, I asked a few co-workers if I could tag along with them for a late lunch. They all wanted to go Dutch and I was just more pay for the check."_

_The man closed his eyes, sighed heavily, and groaned, "Hard to believe the guards actually were eying me, but I doubt they knew specifically why they had to. Anywho, after my quick appetizer, I excused myself, saying I had an errand to do for the coffee stand and they let me go out and I scurried as fast as I could halfway here." The Englishman gave a hard look at the door, then lowered his gaze at the light seeping through. "You.. .you ready to give Bill what our good 'friend' shared with us?"_

_Rebecca gave off a smile to the man, trying not to laugh at the seriousness of their situation and, before propping up a fist to knock the door, chided, "I was just about to go in. Come on."_

* * *

><p><span><strong>When One Needs A Compass...<strong>

Time didn't seem so consistent or consequensing at all. Another stream to jump over, more bushes to rustle through, a dirt-patched slope to slide down, and Desmond had no hold on how far or how long he had travelled into the thickening of that forest. Not that he was feeling tired, but he was wary of how his hike through the woods was going on and on. The fact that his movements in the forest were the only sounds to be heard didn't help him feel any less paranoid. But he felt that wherever he was supposed to meet his Fifth was close. So very close, in fact, that his right arm was acting up again, but he would clutch the disk in his pocket every time it did and the feeling would subside. For how long it would be doing that, he wasn't sure.

Then, he stopped. He didn't know why at first because he didn't bother noticing the forest itself while he went on, but the aura of the area was so loudly screaming at him to be given attention to that he finally took the time to observe his surroundings, which had drastically darkened into nighttime. When he took in the view, he couldn't believe it.

It was The Farm. The Assassin training facility he was raised in. It was still wholesome, unaffected before the Rapture. His parents' house was still where it was. Even the old Detroit greenery surrounding the isolated area was intact. How did he get into The Farm? And more importantly, why?

For whatever reason, Desmond suddenly felt anxious. It was like his heart was pounding the blood into his ears and he wanted to flinch at every little corner of the facility, the night just dark enough to be concealed in...

The man suddenly turned and stiffened at a thumping on the ground. Someone was here with him, but why should he be afraid? For all he knew, it could have been his Fifth. But deep down, he didn't feel it was them. Whoever was with him was another being or soul. It was coming closer. He had no weapons of any kind upon coming to the Realms and he might be facing an enemy—

Oh shit! He was coming closer!

And with that, Desmond grew agitated and consumed by his paranoia. Stance up and ready to fight—or flee, if needed—he faced the direction of the figure and shouted, "Stop and identify yourself!"

"Well, glad you finally made it, buddy." That voice had sounded so snippy and relaxed… And familiar.

"Oh, hold on. One sec." Out of nowhere, the headlights of their area shone at a particular spot in front of him, illuminating the image of a sober young man, in his late twenties, even. And it hit him.

"Clay? It's... it's really you! You're okay!" Desmond, bewildered, but all but loosened, was still surprised as he looked over Clay Kazcmarek, better known as Subject 16, who was standing around like he hadn't committed suicide due to excess exposure to the Bleeding Effect. His stress-induced features were nonexistent. But then, the surprise died down and was replaced with a mixture of gladness and slight disappointment. "You're not them, are you? The Fifth Guide, I mean. Why are you—"

"It's nice to see you too, 17." Sarcasm hinted, Clay made his way to Desmond and patted him on the back. "Listen. Your final Guide is, umm... Well, let's say there's more to them that just talking to you about existentialism. And, from how you can't even tell that this is part of your Memory, I'm not surprised they sent me to you." And then he let go before moving forward, motioning for Desmond to follow.

Desmond, for more times than he'd have liked, was puzzled by his statement. "Wait. What do you mean? I'm in my own Memory?"

But Clay's only answer was to point at a gate near the far side of the compound as they were nearing it, streetlights awakening to light their path ahead and fading away again when they passed. Someone else was around, but he didn't notice them or the fact that the streetlights were shining against the dark night.

He was sneaking about and hiding behind every corner, carrying what he remembered as a stuffed gym bag. White and worn were the hoodie and jeans he wore as he made for the farthest exit. Just watching him go gave Desmond the most bizarre, almost incepting feeling. That young man, who was sixteen and so desperate to get out and see the world, not knowing what was in wait for him in the coming years. "Clay...Is that..."

But the other man was still walking, not bothering to stop when he answered back, "Yes. Yes, Desmond. Come. The other 'Memories' won't be as peculiar as this one. Rather, they'll need me keeping you to your senses as we go to the Fifth."

But Desmond paid little mind to what Clay had said. The whole compound was shifting, like when he met with the other four, and the buildings were deforming, the dark night becoming a grey sky where the buildings formerly were on. And then finally, they neared the young man as he finally made it out of the gates, the image stuck to his conscious.

He just saw his former self escape The Farm.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's note<strong>: I know, I KNOW. Alot of you probably thought Clay Kazcmarek/Subject 16 was going to be Desmond's Fifth Guide, but since his A.I. had already told Desmond what he needed to know while the man was still alive, I didn't see how it was needed in the plot. But he was of enough significance to Desmond that I included him here in this chapter specifically.

Now, I hope I can finish the last chapter within or after New Years' Day. (Wouldn't you know it? This fic took the entire year of 2014! XD)

Again, thank you guys so much for reading and supporting this fanfic. I hope I can be as productive and, maybe more on-time, with my future fanfics.

Happy Holidays to all of you! OeO)/

_~Itchy_


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